


How To Socialize Your Maia-In-Law

by an_evasive_author



Series: EggVerse [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, M/M, Sibling Bonding, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-11-08 10:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20833772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Celebrimbor, now a seasoned veteran when it comes to the intricacies of dealing with Maiar, feels confident in dealing with Mairon's arrival. Right up until the moment he remembers that he nearly went insane with just one Maia in the house.





	1. Fortresses

“If you have any questions, feel free to ask them,” Celebrimbor had said when Mairon had been somewhat situated. He felt quite confident in his abilities to socialize the new Maia now sharing their home, had he done so not successfully with Annatar? Of course he had. And how much more different could Mairon truly be?

He had not quite accounted for the fact that, where Annatar had been desperately trying to maintain an air of aloof elegance, Mairon held no such restraints and indeed Celebrimbor found himself quite frequently beseeched with queries and inquiries and follow-up questions.

But Celebrimbor was an elf of his word and so he did his very best to answer, or to at least point Mairon into the right direction of the library wings.

And it was not as if he was seeing all that much of Mairon. How strange it still felt to suddenly have a brother-in-law. One so different from Annatar too. Having grown up an only child, Celebrimbor was not _entirely_ certain how alike siblings could expected to be, but to see Annatar and Mairon next to one another was quite strange at times. They were nothing alike.

They sat together at breakfast, like always. Mairon too, though he look amazingly awkward and out of place. Neither he nor Annatar ate, but Annatar had tea and acted as natural at the as one who had no need for breakfast could reasonably be.

But Mairon would look around the room, snap his gaze back suddenly only to repeat the motion, whipping his head back at the slightest of sounds to catch everything. A sheet of paper lay before him, partially filled. Whenever Celebrimbor and Annatar talked about things Mairon did not understand, it would join the ever growing list to be used in his searches around the library.

Across from Mairon sat Erthornil, eating his apple porridge sans apples, those had been picked out first and now Erthornil had to deal with rather bland breakfast. As he stared up at the strange, funny friend that had visited, his ears twitched and his gaze wandered up to the ceiling in deep thought.

Now, if only Erthornil could manage to get to play with him. Perhaps he could show off how well he could build castles with his blocks.

Well, that and have more apples in his bowl. He squeaked and waved his spoon around so someone would take care of that.

Annatar grabbed an apple and began to peel it. A single long twist of peel gathered before him on the table and Erthornil, always eager to help, grabbed for it and devoured the poor, defenceless peel. “Now,” said Annatar as he busied himself. “I could have sworn I have forgotten something. Darling,” with a pointed look at his husband, “Do remind me.”

Celebrimbor, busy peeling the top of his soft-boiled egg, watched them and hummed, “The budget meeting is coming up.”  
  


“_Oh_ _stars_, that was today, was it not?” Annatar said and gave a displeased sigh. A very pointed one. Celebrimbor watched him but did not comment, too busy trying to pick the last stubborn bits of eggshell from his breakfast.

Mairon, who had absolutely no idea what they where talking about, scribbled furiously and scanned his long list of other things he did not know. Well, better he was overly diligent then to miss anything.

Erthornil chirped as sliced apples where dropped into his porridge and he began picking them out eagerly.

* * *

Breakfast concluded for Erthornil who had now eaten two apples and very little of his porridge. He swung his fists around, cheeping and chirping until his face was cleaned and he was set down. Like an arrow let loose, he shot off towards his playroom.

Mairon too made to leave, though not with the same excitement. So it was easier for Annatar to catch him before he could weasel away into the library to sequester himself in stacks of books.

“Ah, Mairon, before you go,” Annatar said and grabbed Mairon at the sleeve of his robe.

Mairon blinked and smoothed his surprise back into something resembling bland amicableness. It would not do to embarrass himself in front of his brother-in-law, “Yes?”

“Could you perhaps look after Erthornil for a little while? It slipped my mind that we would be busy today.”

Mairon hesitated, clutching his scroll full of things he did not know and gnawed at his lower lip. But finally he nodded slowly. “I suppose I could try...”

“Wonderful, you will do great. And it won't take long; Just until the meeting concludes,” said Annatar and laughed.

* * *

“Hmm,” Celebrimbor hummed thoughtfully and dipped his bread into the soft yolk of his egg. Mairon had left, muttering softly after Annatar had pried away his scroll, effectively confiscating it.

“Something on your mind, my darling dear?” asked Annatar and smiled brightly. He placed the knife with which he had peeled Erthornil's apple on the saucer before him and leaned back into his chair.

“I could have sworn,” Celebrimbor mused, “that you gave Teliadis the day off.”

Innocently, Annatar regarded his fingernails with sudden interest, “Who, me?”

Celebrimbor smirked, “And I could have sworn that it was you who reminded me of the budget meeting before bed.”

“_Tyelpe_,” Annatar gasped, utterly shocked, a hand resting lightly on his chest, “Are you implying I tricked my own brother into spending time with his nephew by feigning incompetence?”

“Did you?”

“Shameless, Tyelpe!” called Annatar, indignant, and very nearly managed to look serious about it.

* * *

The borders were very clear and Mairon was not certain if he should, if he _could_, impose on his nephew's space so casually. So how did one go about this?

Asking most likely would work best, “Nephew, might I have permission to enter your domain that is this carpet?” Better to be proper now than sorry later.

And he hardly knew how to engage with a child, even if it was his nephew. Apprentices, the only young ones he ever even saw were all older than that at the very beginning of their apprenticeship.

But what Mairon _did_ know was the fact that he himself did very much not enjoy it when someone barged into his sanctum. Come to think of it, he quite missed his workshop. But it had been a show of trust, however fast decided, to prove that he could learn. He just hoped that Curumo did not decide to try his black powder concoctions right in Mairon's workplace.

Erthornil regarded this strange uncle of his with wide golden eyes. Apparently liking whatever it was that he assessed, he waved at Mairon.

So invited, Mairon stepped on the blue and green carpet and saw it resembling a landscape with a river trailing through it. How strange, though not the strangest thing he had ever seen.

* * *

Erthornil gave an exasperated sigh at the puny remains of his far too small castle. Oh if only he could make something bigger. Something better. Something that would not fall over like his first seven tries. He shrieked angrily, just to take the edge off his frustration and pouted with crossed arms in front of his chest.

Feeling terribly self-conscious, now that he had an audience to impress, he jittered and figdeted about.

Mairon hummed and leaned closer to examine the blocks that had fallen over. He was not quite certain of their usefulness. Were those what the elves build their houses with? How impractical. How did they not simply topple over?

Mairon did not think himself any authority on building houses, yet he was mostly certain that one needed something to stick blocks together. But these ones were so small...It would take far too long to build anything resembling shelter.

Erthornil seemed to mirror that notion and that gave Mairon the confidence he needed to go search for his own materials. He wished to prove himself, after all.

* * *

Annatar had never quite cared for money. He cared for gold, yes. For precious things, certainly. There was just nothing quite like making something from precious metals and jewels.

But money confused him.

The budget meeting was therefore akin to elves playing pretend by rules Annatar did not understand. It was somewhat of an exercise in patience and nodding along whatever Celebrimbor did.

He had stood his ground so far, never fidgeting too overtly, not sighing and casting longing glances at the door while counting the moments left.

Instead Annatar sat perfectly poised, utterly composed and only _wished_ to fidget and sigh.

But as always, before the terrible beast called boredom could truly do him in, his saviour came to Annatar's rescue.

  
“I propose a short break,” said Celebrimbor and _that_ was something Annatar could get behind. Not just him there came the sounds of backs being stretched and eyes being rubbed from concentrating too long.

They waited until the others assembled had shuffled out to search for some manner of relaxation elsewhere. Then, Annatar sighed and rested his head on Celebrimbor's shoulder. What torture it had been to restrain himself for so long. To not touch and only look.

Celebrimbor leaned closer as well and they slumped together in their seats. “You are free to leave, you know? We are very nearly done and I know you do not enjoy this.”  
  
Annatar fluttered his eyelashes and nuzzled at his husband, smiling innocently, “Did I make it so obvious?” Oh, hopefully not. How very embarrassing.

  
“Not at all,” Celebrimbor said and kissed Annatar. “I am just very good at reading both you and the condemnations of disdain you wrote into the margins,” Celebrimbor said, grinned and nodded towards the paper on Annatar's spot on the table.

Annatar, like everyone else, had a folder for various documents before him. They were mostly shortened copies of important matters to shuffle through, not that Annatar cared nor perused them for their intended purpose.

Between each line, in every free space available, Annatar had doodled and written to pass the time.

Annatar gave an embarrassed squeak and turned away from the offending paper. Celebrimbor chuckled and nuzzled into Annatar's golden hair. “Take a break, we are only finalising the budget now. I will join you as soon as I can.”  
  
“Perhaps I should,” said Annatar and kissed Celebrimbor again before he sauntered away. Celebrimbor watched him very attentively as he left and Annatar made certain to sway his hips before the door clicked shut.

* * *

There stood a castle in the nursery and Annatar was mostly sure that it had not been there before. This was certainly not what Annatar had expected but who was he if he could not improvise in a hurry.

The fort was made from metal, iron it seemed like. No stone nor wood seemed to have gone into its construction.

Four towers, one on each corner, too small for anyone but a small child to enter. A portcullis protected the entrance, and Annatar could see a tiny flame glowing within. From his son or his brother, however, there was no sign.

“Well, it seems Mairon is trying to overtake us from within,” said Annatar merrily as he rapped his knuckles against the outer wall of the metal fortress. “Or is it perhaps my little Erthornil who is planning to overthrow us, hm?” He knocked again and was answered by the sound of one banging their head deftly against metal.

The lack of screaming and crying told him that this had most likely been Mairon who had been torn from his concentration. “_Hello_ in there,” called Annatar and walked around the metal construct again to perhaps find an easy entrance. Alas, being a work of his brother, no such luck.

From inside there came excited scrabbling of tiny feet and suddenly Erthornil's dark head popped free from one of the tiny windows carved into the towers and sides for decoration.

“_Aht_!” came the call and a moment later the child as Erthornil threw himself over the wall in wild eagerness to reach his father.  
  


“Oh, my little overlord!” called Annatar as he caught his son and kissed Erthornil's cheek. Erthornil gave a surprised, though not at all perturbed thrill and weaved his fingers into Annatar's hair to grab for the shiny golden plaits.

Annatar laughed and turned back to the metal fort, “I am so very proud, whoever it was that instigated building a fortress in the nursery. Wait until Tyelpe sees this.”

  
Mairon climbed gingerly from underneath the portcullis, noted the tightness of the hinges that kept it from moving smoothly and regarded his brother and nephew with a long, thoughtful stare. “I need to work on some of the finer details still. Something is still missing.”  
  


Both brothers looked at the large metal castle in the middle of the nursery with critical gazes. They tilted their heads this way and that way until Mairon furrowed his brow. “You where always better at decorating things than I was...”

“We all have our strengths,” Annatar said blithely and pointed to the front entrance where the portcullis still hung halfway down. “Perhaps something less pointy? Have you thought about a door?”

“How will we keep marauders out?” asked Mairon and wrinkled his face in obvious distaste. A door for a castle entrance, what a thought!

“Marauders in the nursery?” Annatar said and tilted his head in thought.

Mairon shrugged, “Well, why not? You never know where these marauders may maraud.” Though neither brother had ever seen marauders, surely they where of the same kind of nuisance as mice in the linen closet?

But eventually Annatar nodded, very much convinced, “A fair point, one can never know for certain. Well then, some banners on the tower maybe?”

Mairon looked at the barren towers, “Of what?”

Erthornil chirped and rotated his arms about, fingers still holding onto Annatar's hair. Annatar laughed, “I might have some ideas. But first! Would any of you fine architects and castle owners show me around, please?”

* * *

“What happened here and why was I not invited to take part in it?” came the question from outside the castle and three heads poked over the wall to regard their newest visitor.

Celebrimbor, no longer wearing his jewels of state, his crown nor the jangly armlet Erthornil liked so much, looked up at them.

“Why, Tyelpe. What a nice surprise.”

“I say,” said Celebrimbor and regarded the castle walls. “Where did you get all that iron from? Will I get complaints from the forge that their materials are missing?”

Mairon shook his head, “No, your majesty.”

“Just Celebrimbor, Mairon, please.”

Mairon blinked, “No, Celebrimbor. I sang it myself.”

“You don't say. So you _made_ it yourself?” asked Celebrimbor and angled his ears forward in rapturous interest.

Mairon nodded again, “I sang it.”

“May I come in, I would rather talk about this inside your...who's castle is this?”

Mairon hummed, “Erthornil's.”

“In Erthornil's castle,” concurred Celebrimbor and inclined his head.

Both Maiar turned to the child between them. “Well,” said Annatar, “What do you say, Erthie? Do we let poor Tyelpe inside?”

Erthornil gave a very clear shout of agreement and once more vaulted the wall to fling himself into his father's arms, too impatient to use the door.

The portcullis was drawn up once more and Annatar called over the wall, "Come in, my darling. Do mind the bannisters."


	2. Flowers

As great as a whole castle in the playroom was, and it was really _quite_ terrific, it was also rather inconvenient for the servants to clean out and around. The carpet was nearly covered, the towers so very nearly scraped against the high ceiling and the natural light sources where blotted out.

So, being the responsible king that he was, Celebrimbor ordered it to be put outside in the castle gardens. There was some free space left, just enough for a very tiny castle and a very tiny courtyard.

For a while there had been the worry just exactly _how_ they would get the giant hunk of iron out through the small door of the playroom. Break in the wall perhaps?

Whilst they still argued and debated, drew plans and speculated, Mairon cut the castle into small pieces, carried them effortlessly out into the gardens and fused them back together so seamlessly, it looked as if it had never been anything but one perfect piece. Now it stood proudly in the gardens like some manner of gargantuan ornament.

True to his word, Annatar commissioned banners to decorate the towers with. Two pretty blue banners embroidered with chickadees hung proudly, the golden stitching glittering in the light.

Erthornil very much approved, he waved his hands around quite a lot when he looked at them. He also helped preparing the rows of ground meant to be planted by picking away the wild flowers dotting the castle grounds.

Not all of them where placed near the little castle and Erthornil got distracted halfway through and wandered off to pick more flowers. How could he not, it was his unceasing duty, his way to contribute. The gardeners would have fervently disagreed but Annatar stood just behind his darling prince and watched him rip out bulbs by the handful to make bouquets with.

While Annatar and Erthornil busied themselves in the garden, Celebrimbor and Mairon sat at one of the little tables. They had talked about quite a wide spread of topics and Mairon, though only gradually, had begun to open up as he was allowed to talk about his work and his passions to an attentive and interested listener.

They had talked about _Logos_, the art of bringing things into the world by the virtue of words given to the Valar by Eru Iluvatar himself. Mairon had become quite animated, Celebrimbor could feel his enthusiasm excite himself and they exchanged information easily.

Celebrimbor felt himself reminded of his talks with Annatar, the exuberance felt very much the same, once Mairon had been coaxed to open up a little.

“So are there any limits to how much ore you can sing?”

Mairon, hands folded in his lap, shook his head, “Only the space given. If you had let me, I could have filled the castle from top to bottom.”  
  
Imagining _that_ was not pleasant and Celebrimbor flicked his ears, “Ah, glad that you did not.”

“I was instructed about proper usage extensively,” said Mairon and Celebrimbor thought he could hear pride in Mairon's tone, “Not many get taught in _Logos_.”

Celebrimbor leaned closer, ears turned forward. Mairon, far too engrossed in his discussion to feel flustered, noted the way Celebrimbor seemed to use them for communication. Annatar did this too, he had noticed. When he talked to elves, at least. Was this some manner to convey emotions? A shame he had never paid any attention to it back home. Had Mahtan done this as well?

He would need to look into that.

But their talk was interrupted as Celebrimbor found himself with a lap full of flowers and beseeched by a small child that clamoured eagerly for attention. Also for someone to appreciate his hard work, but this could be achieved whilst he was cuddled. After such work, he had more than earned it and it was not wrong to demand what was rightfully owed to him.

Erthornil chirped and made to climb his father when Celebrimbor did not pull him up fast enough for his taste. Celebrimbor laughed and kissed his son, Erthornil heaving for breath as if he had climbed a mountain by his lonesome before seating himself in his father's lap. A few flowers poked their heads out miserably from where Erthornil smushed them into the Celebrimbor's robes.

Celebrimbor took pity on them and picked the lightly crushed flowers out before gathering them up in something that resembled a bouquet once more.

“It seems they are getting ready to plant,” Celebrimbor mused and helped Erthornil to make a little flower crown. He twisted and braided what could still be salvaged and Erthornil squeaked and looked with wide eyes, waving his arms around.

Mairon watched them, his list ever growing as he scribbled away. Flower crowns he knew. Everyone who knew Yavanna did, for that was usually the first thing you where beset with when one came too close. Not that it had happened _often._ Just enough to make Mairon remember about it. He had no business with delicate flowers that wilted at the slightest heat. But perhaps it would not hurt to at least find out the names.

Someone poked his leg and Mairon, torn from his thoughts, looked down. Erthornil, with a flower crown decorating him, held out a tiny, lightly smushed blue flower towards his uncle and waved it around when Mairon did not react at first.

“I--” Mairon, caught unprepared, smiled awkwardly and took the little offering. “Thank you,” he said and this time he hoped his smile looked not quite so strange.

Celebrimbor drained his tea and stood up, “We will have this talk continue later, I hope. But right now I am needed at the flower beds. You are, of course, free to accompany us.”

Mairon blanched and trained his gaze towards his scroll resting on his lap. “I think I will peruse your library...”  
  
Celebrimbor took Erthornil's tiny hand in his own. “Very well,” said Celebrimbor and refrained from pressing further, “Until then.”

Mairon watched them go, still holding his gift. Now, left to his own devices, he made his way into the opposite direction to bury himself in comfortable solitude.

* * *

The thought of standing there, wholly unprepared and floundering around helplessly made Mairon's ears burn with shame. To distract himself, Mairon threw himself into his frantic research, the scroll unfurled to check off what he found, curled around his ankles and trailed behind him.

What first? Customs and traditions? Too complicated to research on his own. With no one, namely Annatar, to help him connect the words written before him with meaning, there would just be a lot of headache and misunderstanding. Better to wait.

Politics were very much alike in that regard, terribly confusing.

So caught up in his musings, Mairon only now noticed that he was still clutching the tiny blue flower. Already it was drooping, surely it had not appreciated being hauled around so roughly.

It seemed a shame to let it crumble like that. It was, after all, a gift and Mairon knew to appreciate those. Even if it was not made from metal, a shame too, metal would not perish so easily. Was there a way of preserving it?

Well, if one could, it would be written down here.

And it was. Plant preservation and so much more. At one point Mairon's scouring eyes found something even more interesting and all other progress halted. The scroll lay forgotten, the flower was pressed between the pages of a thick book. And Mairon felt his inner fire rise at the prospect of learning something so utterly new.

There was a language spoken with flowers? For flowers? How truly interesting, this needed further investigation. Mairon rolled up his scroll and hid it away in his robe.

Were there more books about this? A vocabulary? How _did_ this work? Was it like the way Celebrimbor moved his ears? Was it intuitive, how many spoke flower?

The librarian who wandered the hallways was met with the noises of sudden, feverish activity as books where pulled from their shelves and Mairon buried himself in knowledge both figuratively and literally. The reading desk he had chosen was soon walled off from the rest of the library, stacks piled high as the Maia behind it devoured the words like one about to die of thirst presented with spring water.

Rapid page flipping was the only sound remaining, for the librarian had already fled in the face of such a furious working ethic.

It would not have been the first time, though usually sparks would fly more literally in these instances. No matter, it would do him no good dwelling on that. There were books to read.

* * *

His confidence bolstered by the acquirement of new knowledge, Mairon wandered through the halls in measured steps, for there could be no running nor skipping no matter how excited one was to show his brother what exhilarating things he had just uncovered. That would not have been proper and so he contented himself with thinking about his newly absorbed knowledge.

The desire to test it out was great, yet several things kept him from searching out the nearest patch of well kept flowers. One was a serious doubt that such an action would have been very much appreciated by the gardeners. Another was, ironically, the lack of experience. Just because he now knew that coloured carnations meant pride in one's home did indeed not mean that he knew what coloured carnations were.

But all good things needed time, patience and copious cross-references and Mairon was willing to wait. Wait and learn and not make a fool of himself.

He reached the gardens well after lunch and work had seemingly concluded for the time being. Next to the castle, now with a prettily decorated entryway, the royal family leisured on a colourful blanket.

Celebrimbor rested in Annatar's lap, one hand behind his head as he looked up at Annatar like a flower turned towards the sun. And his sun, Annatar, laughed at something Celebrimbor said and leaned closer to kiss him.

A little away, still crowned with flowers and now also grass stains from were there had been tumbling around on the lawn, was Erthornil. Sometimes he would steer back towards the blanket, a bowl with strawberries kept him anchored to their sides and entertained between breaks of someone playing with him.

Mairon, torn between joining them and quietly vanishing once more to leave them to themselves, remained rooted in place. He could not bring himself to do either of it and now he had made himself quite nervous. What to do, what to do? Oh, he could not simply start making a scene by shuffling around like some hidden sneak intruding upon private matters. Well, at least any more than he already was.

Once again his spiralling thoughts were halted as Erthornil, still sticky from eating strawberries, spotted his fussing uncle and bounded towards him with excited little crows and hands waving around.

It was very hard not to notice this spectacle and both Annatar and Celebrimbor looked up at whatever it was that had Erthornil in fits over it.

They spotted him right away and Annatar, one hand still caressing Celebrimbor's cheek, waved and Mairon flinched before limply waving back. He surely looked like a fool, half-hidden behind the stone columns and trimmed bushes, with a small child hanging in his robes and tugging ineffectually at him.

But caught and found out as he was, he now had no other choice than to join them, anything else was out of the question.

Annatar stole another kiss from Celebrimbor before he spoke up, patiently waiting until Mairon was in close proximity as to not raise his voice above what was necessary. “Mairon, how nice of you to join us. Don't the flowers look simply marvellous?” he said and gestured towards the patches of colour boldly waving in the warm breeze. Mairon did not know their names, but once he did, he was confident he would know the sentiment one could express with them.

Celebrimbor smirked and hummed in approval, yet his brow creased as he examined his hands, “They'd better be, I still have dirt under my fingernails.”

“My poor dear. Sacrifices must be made,” said Annatar wryly and stroked Celebrimbor's forehead. Celebrimbor grumbled something but smiled regardless.

Erthornil, the last of the strawberries devoured, made to hug his father but Annatar was too fast and wiped his son's face clean. There came muffled protest from underneath the handkerchief and Erthornil tried to pull away until he was finally released. “There we are,” said Annatar, satisfied with his work. Erthornil, eyes round and surprised, peeped and finally got hugged.

“My little prince with his pretty castle. And now with a matching courtyard. You have me rather jealous, my darling,” said Annatar, laughed as he cuddled Erthornil.

“_Feth_,” said Erthornil in his endless wisdom and nuzzled closer into his father's neck where he could rest his head.

Mairon watched them, thinking of flowers and rotating ears as their castle stood behind them, illuminated by the sun wandering behind it.


	3. Marmalade

Sometimes one needed to leave behind the drudgery of everyday life and embrace the little-known, the unusual, the _exciting_. And so when Annatar slyly sneaked from out of their shared bedroom, leaving only a tactical pillow in Celebrimbor's embrace to keep his trickery up for as long as possible, he decided to make marmalade at this fine day.

It would not have been the first time he had, but the last time indeed had been a good while ago.

Marmalade was one of these wonderful recipes that did not take a lot of different steps and could be scaled up to nearly infinity. As such, Annatar very much enjoyed _making_ it, even though he did not eat it himself.

But there were those that _did_ eat it and these people he held very dear. Also, he looked quite good with bound hair and where to do that better than in the kitchen?

And so Annatar left his circlet and his jewels and his rings on the vanity and instead bound his hair pragmatically and wore an apron for the day.

He looked very fetching and more than once did he admire himself in any reflective surfaces passing along. Oh yes, how nice he looked. He would need to show Celebrimbor later; Preferably without anything else _but _the apron. Everything else would simply distract.

He hummed as he wandered into the kitchens and past those that worked there. He had, of course, already announced himself before and so someone had already prepared most of the things needed to make truly _outstanding_ marmalade. Which Annatar very much intended to make.

Firstly, you cleaned the jars and everything falling into the category of heat, Annatar was very good at. The mason jars were placed in a water bath and Annatar willed the water to heat before turning back.

Inspecting the fruits, for he did not know what exactly was in season, turned them out to be be cherries. So, these would need to be de-stoned and the best ones needed to be sorted out. Tedious work but Annatar hardly minded. Instead he hummed and made conversations with those passing by.

Outside, light rose, painting sky first pink and purple, then gold. Work was postponed so Annatar could marvel a little while.

The air smelled of breakfast, coffee. But also of the cherries he had sorted. Freshly picked, slightly tart, just the perfect contrast to sweet sugar. How wonderful.

Now what next? Ah, but of course. Annatar turned around, searching for the pantry. Really, he was no in here often enough to know the layout by heart but eventually he found what he was looking for and washed the orange he had found.

Cutting it in half, digging out the seeds and finely chopping the entire thing was done quite fast and he set it aside to measure out sugar.

This was were the brilliance came in, really. Just as much sugar as fruit of any kind. Annatar could appreciate a recipe that abandoned all pretences of pinches and teaspoons in a wild, savage sort of way. How very barbarous of him, how exciting!

All combined in a large pot and under continuous stirring bring to a boil. Easy, perfectly domestic. Oh, if only darling Tyelpe would see him and leer a little, perfectly tastefully of course, the dear. This would need to wait, Annatar could not simply stop working to show himself off.

Yes well, it could wait. And if it was only to add to the sweetness later by also presenting something else alongside himself.

The most important part now was to not stop stirring.

Breakfast had seemingly concluded, there was the clatter of dishes but Annatar was focused entirely on the pot before him. No burned clumps would ruin _his_ perfect masterpiece. Never.

* * *

The hot jelly had just been transferred to waiting jars, evenly distributed into each one, when the sound of excited little footsteps pitter-pattered into the kitchen. As with all things fruit, Erthornil was summoned the moment the scent began to spread. One would only need to put out a perfectly innocent bowl of cut fruit somewhere and one could be certain it would summon Annatar's tiny, precious prince.

Certainly, it could take some time, on such perilous journeys there were an awful lot of distractions, both shiny or tasty, potentially both, to brave. But Erthornil would always prevail.

And so he did now, fingers wrapped around Mairon's hand, trying his very hardest to pull his uncle along, unwilling to let go just as much as he would not miss out on eating cherries. Mairon was not hurried along, however, but he did follow dutifully.

“Oh, just see what Erthie brought me,” laughed Annatar brightly, “Hello Mairon.”

Mairon returned the greeting and looked curiously at the jars, “You cook?”  
  
“Occasionally,” Annatar said and caught Erthornil who zoomed around in desperate attempts to somehow get on the table to gorge himself on the sticky sugar concoction. Nothing would hold him back. Safe the vertical space! Erthornil leaned against a leg of the table and stared upward, hands uselessly outstretched as if beseeching the marmalade to come to him.

Alas, it did not and Erthornil gave a distressed mew while waving his hands around.

Annatar took pity on his poor son and picked him up. “Would you fetch me some bread? It seems someone wishes to taste test.”  
  
Mairon did and watched the ensuing massacre as an innocent piece of dunked bread was torn to shreds. “I never would have thought you to be the type,” he said.

Annatar tittered, “Neither did I! Oh, but these silly elves work out my curiosity. Had you already the chance to learn a few of the things they have? Endlessly amusing.”

Mairon, who thought of flowers and their meanings, inclined his head, “They most certainly do.”

Erthornil meanwhile inhaled his bread, the sound of furious nibbling joined by flying crumbs.

“Oh my darling, not so fast, it will go down the wrong pipe,” Annatar said and tutted as he tried in vain to pull the bread away. Instead, feeling threatened for his bread, Erthonil stuffed the remaining piece into his mouth to keep it safe in his cheeks. “Oh,” Annatar, now outsmarted and beaten, conceded. “Very well, have it your way,” he said and kissed Erthornil's sticky cheek.

“Are they all like that when you make that?” asked Mairon, for the thought of easily inducing such savagery with just some sugar seemed quite worrisome to contemplate.

Annatar laughed, “Oh yes, well, most of them. Though they usually do not growl and try to inhale it. Usually.”

“Ah,” said Mairon. How curious indeed.

“Would you like to see what else they do if you give them sugar? It's great fun.”

Mairon hesitated, for he was a good Maia who did not play pranks.

But Annatar, while cleaning Erthornil's face, smiled impishly, “See it as research.”

Well, if he put it like _that_... "Lead on then," said Mairon and together the brothers forayed into the field for extensive testing.


	4. Ducks

It was strange to see his brother drink... anything, really. Mairon had joined them for high tea, for that was what polite guests did, and he watched them partake in beverages and snacks.

He knew of eating, of course. One could not live among elves, even as withdrawn as Mairon had, without knowing about that particular quirk. But Mairon knew about elven needs in the same way one knew about

Annatar did not eat any of the cake, the jellies or fruit but he drank tea and looked quite at ease doing so. How strange he looked. Lifting his cup to his lips, tilting it to his lips, tilting it back. Yes, well, in between he drank from it. Repeat until empty then refill, begin anew.

Mairon was not certain the purpose of tea. Well, he knew the elves, silly things they were, needed to be kept hydrated or else they would get quite dried out. Like the dried fruit Mahtan sometimes ate.

But Mairon and Annatar did not. In fact, the only form of nourishment they had ever required were the trace minerals found in volcanic emissions. He remembered when Aulë took them out to the great volcanoes for a picnic every few hundred years.

“Mairon, something on your mind?” asked Annatar and Mairon noticed that he had been staring at him for quite a while.

Celebrimbor and Erthornil both ate slices of cake, Erthornil's had been cut into small, sensible cubes. Celebrimbor dipped his slice into his coffee.

“Just thinking about picnics.”

“My,” Annatar laughed brightly. His teacup clinked quietly as he put it back onto the saucer, “How decidedly uncharacteristic for you. Anything particular that brought this up?”

Mairon considered his answer. His hands were folded in his lap, he knew for he stared quite intently at them before his gaze met that of his brother, “I think that I would perhaps...partake in a cup.”  
  
Annatar blinked, “Truly? Why, of course!” without so much as a moment's hesitation, he grabbed for another cup, turned it and poured tea to serve his brother. No questions asked.

Mairon looked at his drink. It steamed, little tongues of steam rolling into the air before vanishing. His eyes, perfectly inconspicuous, flickered over to regard Celebrimbor who had coffee and helped himself to more cake. The elf was perfectly at ease, not the least bit perturbed at the strangeness that was about to unfold.

How very strange indeed. Though if Annatar was doing it...

Mairon lifted his cup, noted the little flowers painted on the rim and set it to his lips. Warm water swirled around his lips, the temperature bothered him not. He sensed steeped plant parts, smelled re-hydrated flowers.

There was something he was forgetting. How shameful, had he not watched his brother many times now? He should know this-- ah, of course. He swallowed some of it. Well. He did not quite understand why this was so popular.

But of course he could not say that.

“Sugar with your tea?” asked Celebrimbor and gently pushed the sugar bowl, painted to match the teacups, towards Mairon.

Mairon, now hopelessly swept over, blundered and nearly dropped his cup in an attempt to follow with Celebrimbor's request.

“Don't overwhelm him right away, my darling,” chided Annatar. He turned to his brother, “But now that you mention picnics, after tea we will go feed the ducks. Surely you will join us?”

Mairon watched his tea, “Ducks?”

“_Wah_!” Erthornil affirmed brightly, eagerly and squeezed the piece of cake he still held. Crumbs flew about and Celebrimbor used his teaspoon to fish some from his cup.

Annatar laughed and it was easy to see from whom Erthornil had it from, “Ducks indeed! Lovely little critters, I promise. The fattest ducks in the kingdom, I would wager.”

Mairon nodded, for he dared not think about how impolite it would have been to decline. He tipped his head back and swallowed the entire remains of his tea in a single, large gulp.

Annatar gave a horrified gasp, “_Mairon_! How _uncouth_!”

* * *

They had grapes and lettuce, oats and corn. No bread, of course, being utterly unsuited for hungry and greedy ducks.

Ducks, as it turned out, liked grapes just as much as Erthornil. How unfortunate for them, as this proved to be somewhat of a problem. Erthornil waffled around and hesitated to share what was so clearly his. Luckily they had brought cracked corn as well. This Erthornil did not hesitate to fling around abundantly, being the generous lord over his ducks that he was as long as grapes did not get involved.

Celebrimbor held the little bag with feed, made sure Erthornil in his ardour did not accidentality swallow corn instead of grapes and kept his son from charging into the lake to greet his newly made friends.

When not beseeched by a small, overzealous child, the ducks munched noisily on corn and quacked quietly to themselves. They waggled their tails and flapped their wings and Erthornil became ever more excited the closer his duck friends came to feast on corn.

Annatar and Mairon stood close by and more than once Annatar excused himself to intercept when Celebrimbor was not fast enough. But other than that the brothers watched the little spectacle, content to observe.

“I will need to practice drinking tea, I think,” said Mairon when Annatar stood by his side again, perfectly composed.

Annatar tittered, “I admit, it took some time to get used to it, but you cannot deny that it looks utterly elegant and refined.”

Mairon hummed. He doubted he himself did look all that elegant just yet. But Annatar most certainly did, Mairon had no doubt about that.

“It will make you look more approachable if you learn it,” said Annatar, “Like the freckles you gave yourself."

“I do not understand why...”

“Why, it is simple. They are quite skittish, these elves. Absolute flawlessness spooks them, though they are too polite to say it outright.”

“They are flaws?” asked Mairon and brushed a finger over the little spots on his cheeks.”

“Perhaps that is the wrong analogy,” Annatar admitted. “Think of it like a bit of grit. To hold onto, I mean. It makes you look friendly and nice.”

Mairon blinked, “Do I want that, brother?”

“_Don't_ you want that?” Annatar asked in return.

Mairon lapsed into silence, for he had no immediate answer. Instead they watched the ducks jabbering and gabbling and clamour for more corn.

…

The last crumbs were shaken from the bag, the last grapes had already been stuffed into greedy cheeks and

Completely done with ducks for the day, Erthornil stretched his hands upwards and waved them around, cheeping and chirping and beseeching until he was picked up. He yawned and snuggled into Celebrimbor's neck and then, like a candle, he was out. Utterly asleep and splayed over his father's shoulder like a doll.

“It is time for a break,” Annatar said as they walked back home. “He will be up before supper, no doubt. Until then, I propose a little merriment. What would you two say about a bit of smithing?”

All three smiths agreed that this was quite a good idea. Perhaps they were just a little biased.

* * *

With Erthornil in his little bed, snoring quietly to himself and perhaps dreaming of fowl friends, the three of them retreated into the forge.

“Oh, my dears,” Annatar called when the first piece had been finished. Merely something for practice, to adjust to one another, “I do say, what a marvellous idea.”

Celebrimbor shifted his hammer into his other hand and wiped his forehead. “Quite. I am curious to see the two of you create something. What exactly are we making?”

It was Mairon who answered. The moment he had slipped on an apron, it was as if he had grown. Not so much in stature but in presence. He seemed to fit quite well into any forge, this only confirmed it. He unfolded a drawing, quickly sketched in coal. “I propose this.” They bowed over it, appraising it with the critical eyes of masters. Mairon stood proud and not worried, confident in his abilities. “I felt very much inspired,” he said.

Celebrimbor clicked the back of his hammer against the wooden table, chin resting on his hand. “Bold. Very much so; I like it, but it will take quite some work if we do attempt to make it.”  
  


Annatar folded his hands underneath his chin, both elbows planted firmly on the table. His golden braid hung over his shoulder and swished in time with his nods. “It has my approval. And it is not as we have any truly pressing projects. Besides,” he said and sidled closer to Celebrimbor, just enough so he could _brush_ his fingers ever so innocently along the elf's shoulder, “You like the _bold_, do you not, my darling?”

And Celebrimbor, who had done the boldest thing by marrying his Maia, did indeed like it.

They proceeded from there.


	5. Light Reading

When one donned the crown, for whatever reason at all, be it sense of duty or because frankly one looked _terribly_ handsome with it; There were some truths to learn. One truth went a little like this; Their kingdom ran on paperwork. Atrocious amounts of it, an endless avalanche, never ceasing. Really, it was impressive that those not even capable of using the _Logos_ were seemingly able to generate paperwork out of nothing.

Annatar yielded before his own stack, not even able to finish his now cold tea. Celebrimbor seemed ready but too stubborn to follow behind his example and instead braved on.

There was something about this day. This particular day when nothing they did seemed to end. The desire to fling either himself into bed or the paper in front of him into the fireplace was a sure sign to perhaps take a little break. 

“What absolutely _dreadful _weather,” said Annatar as he looked out the window. Celebrimbor mumbled something that sounded vaguely like agreement but mostly like someone desperately trying to herd the numbers on their paper into something resembling order.

Annatar stepped to the window to look outside. It would have been fitting to sum the sight up in one word. Grey, came to mind, for instance.

Clouds, like fat, mindless beasts, wandered along a listless sky. Everything was cold and drenched in rain and slush. And there, in the distance, his tower vanished behind endless fog. Not that he had really needed his tower these last few years. But perhaps he should clean it out a little. By now there_ had_ to be at least a finger width of dust on there... All was soggy and uninviting. 

Not even the weather vane moved. The great markets were silent, the birds sat damp on the windowsill, fluffed up to keep warm.

It was a miserable day. Most certainly. Without a doubt. Yes.

“How delightful!” called Annatar and clapped his hands. A perfectly grey day. What better weather than to sequester away in their quarters until it let up?

He turned to Celebrimbor, poor Tyelpe who stared at his paperwork and cursed it in all its forms, no doubt. Therefore he did not complain when Annatar pulled the quill from his fingers and kissed the crinkles out of his brow. “My _darling_,” Annatar laughed, “Select a bottle of wine; today we are staying indoors.”

Celebrimbor closed his inkwell and cracked the entirety of his back, one vertebra after the other, slowly, deliciously. There was a _giddiness_ in his gaze, one Annatar knew well and simply adored. “That sounds like a plan, I'll tell Tangadon to cancel what is left of the schedule,” he said and all the weariness from a day filled with paperwork seemed to fall off of him.

Annatar smiled at the retreating form of his husband before he sauntered off to fetch his son and his brother to invite them to laze around together. For indolence was best enjoyed with others.

* * *

It truly was a delight to watch Celebrimbor open a bottle of wine. Especially the stubborn ones. Not that Annatar wished to see his darling Tyelpe get frustrated, but if he could not make it look so terribly appealing.

How he leaned in closer until hair obscured his fiery eyes so roguishly, one hand closed around the corkscrew like a mighty weapon, as he whispered sweet promises of death and destruction to the one thing keeping him from the wine in front of him. Death threads and creative curses, just low enough so impressionable ears would not hear.

“Why are we idling?” asked Mairon, who was one of the two impressionable people in the room. He, too, had been found, pried off from his work and was now forced to recline against the couch. He managed to make this look like another duty to perfect. Part of his robe, the bit that hung over the cushions and spilled on the floor, was used as another piece of carpet for Erthornil to play on. Stuffed animals had been jammed into the folds of the maroon fabric, as if they were peering out of little caves.

Mairon dared not move, for he did not wish to disturb the denizens roosting in his robe. So he sat ramrod straight, stiff like a board and not even touching the upholstered backrest.

There came a _pop_ and Celebrimbor's triumphant, indoor victory cry.

“Mairon,” Annatar chided when he had sufficiently swooned over the brave warrior making to fetch glasses, “It is not idling. We are being _lazy_. You should try it.”

“I do not see the point...”

“_Why_, there is no point. Purpose in purposelessness, if you will—Darling, if you would,” Annatar said and held out his wine glass to Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor obliged him, ever the cavalier he was, filled both their glasses and waved the bottle in Mairon's direction, “Some for you as well?”  
  


Mairon shook his head, “No, no I think I will be alright with just the tea, thank you.” There was a thin slice of lemon in his tea this time. That had taken him for a spin and he was not yet certain what he thought of that. He was not yet ready to try yet another new curiosity. He lifted it gingerly, inspected it.

Annatar hummed and leaned closer against Celebrimbor who handed him his wine, “Suit yourself. And you needn't sit so _stiffly_. Relax a little. And don't let Erthie eat the lemon, please. Strong tastes upset him.” Annatar said, smiled at the two of them and tipped his glass to nip at the wine. “Now, Tyelpe, my darling, shall we?”

“We shall,” Celebrimbor agreed and rolled over to fetch the book. The book read best together, the intrigue, the mystery, the _drama_. Also Annatar still had a bet with his husband and neither one would be allowed to read in advance until they had found out just _who_ that elusive mastermind was.

“You know, there is still time to change your mind,” Annatar offered. “I would feel simply _terrible_ to let you run into your misguided failure—Ai, don't you pinch me, you brute!”

Celebrimbor, brute that he was, smirked and turned the page as if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

They paused in their reading when the wine was emptied and another bottle needed to be fetched; but that would be the absolute extend of work done that day. Then, of course, there was the mandatory cuddle-break, for Erthornil had expectations for grey lazy days and how to better spent the time then by snuggling with his fathers before going of to colour.

Seated at the low coffee table, wax pens of every colour strewn about, Erthornil banged his tiny palms against the table until Mairon was bidden to join his tiny nephew, proving once more that this summoning ritual worked flawlessly.

Mairon, leaving a trail of stuffed animals behind him, folded his long legs underneath him and watched his nephew draw and taste test the pens for the very best colour before Mairon himself pulled a piece of paper towards himself and joined in. Though he did not nibble at the wax.

He would certainly not simply stand, or rather _sit _by, without participating in something. And if the muffled giggling and shoving and nudging was anything to go by, Mairon had no interest in finding out what it was that Annatar and Celebrimbor were reading if _those_ were the reactions.

Instead he hummed and sketched out the forest Aulë and he had wandered in together not too long ago. And one of Oromë's great hounds, it fit in well enough.

“_Tyelpe, you impudent _cur_!”_

“_So don't catch it with your face, Annatar.”_

Next to him there was a skittering sound, a quiet ruffle of paper, of waxed crayons rolling over the wooden surface. A shuffle. Erthornil, perhaps thinking himself very stealthy, had made his way around the table to peek at Mairon's sketch.

Mairon slid it over and watched his tiny nephew inspect it with critical eyes. Then, with impressed little noises Erthornil handed over his own drawing for similar examination.

“_Get back, you brazen Maia. And no kissing enemies in war, _don't_ you dare!”_

“_I cannot help it, my darling!”_

“How very--” How did one properly critic one of these drawings? Surely a small child would not look for objective criticism? Neither Annatar nor Celebrimbor were of any help, their book had been abandoned and they were tussling playfully on the pillows.

“Creative,” he finally settled on. It was true, after all. A lumpy bird on a tree half its size. In a way, it was quite...nice. Not very realistic. But was that not the appeal for some?

* * *

In any case, it seemed to be all the encouragement the child needed. Erthornil gave a pleased little thrill and unceremoniously plopped down next to his uncle to draw another picture.

A pillow hit the corner of the table, having missed its mark. Half of it lay on the smooth table before it slipped off, landing with a soft thud. Mairon watched the two and puzzled over what he saw.

Whatever had transpired, Mairon had not seen it, merely heard choice bits, but Celebrimbor and Annatar chased each other around the room now, pillows flying. How curious. He remembered, when they had been small, how the others had used to play tag. Never Mairon, little Mairon who had hidden in Aulë's mane.

He had never seen the need to chase about, around with others. Well, there had not been pillows then, not when throwing rocks had been just as harmless. But he doubted _that_ would be very much appreciated here.

Instead pillows and the odd feather flew about, much less sturdy than a rock, most certainly.

Erthornil sneezed and continued his drawing, undisturbed.

* * *

When the feathers had settled, all four occupants found themselves around the table for tea and Mairon found that he preferred his without lemon. Not necessarily because of the taste, but the presence of the lemon confused him. It added another layer to the taste that Mairon was already busy deciphering. Another time, perhaps.

Erthornil munched on cake and crumbled liberally over his drawing, unconcerned by any of it.

Annatar tutted softly, brushed the crumbs away and stroked Erthornil's head until the child cooed around his cake.

Celebrimbor, with his hair in slight disarray, hummed, very pleased and very relaxed. “I feel this was a wonderful idea, Annatar.”

“Did I not say so?” Annatar laughed and kissed first Erthornil and then Celebrimbor. “Who would wish to be outside to work in such horrid weather?”

“I work inside,” Celebrimbor smiled and was silenced.

“Semantics,” Annatar said, decisively snorted and with that the argument was over. “Unnecessary details.”

“Very well,” Celebrimbor conceided. His cup was empty and he politely declined another refilling.

Mairon watched, thoughtful and quiet, wholly content with sorting grains of sugar after some manner only he knew.

I believe a break is in order,” Celebrimbor decided when Erthornil seemed ready to snore over his remaining pastry. There were still half hearted attempts to nibble at it, yet Erthornil did little more than smush it against his slacking lips before resting his heavy arms on the table.

What an eventful day it had been, indeed. All this drawing and cuddling had left him positively drained. “I will join him, I think,” Celebrimbor said and scooped up his crumbled little son towards the pillows left over.

“Marvellous, my darlings,” Annatar said and made to fetch them a blanket. “I shall be in my tower,” he said, perhaps with a little to much cheer and sing-song in his voice, for Celebrimbor opened his eyes to regard him thoughtfully.

  
  
“Did I do something?” Celebrimbor asked from his position, nestled deep into the pillows. The tower meant dramatics and clipped little huffs and ruffled feathers needing to be smoothed over, “You are not mad still because I clobbered you with the pillow, are you? And it is not my fault, I aimed for your shoulder and you caught it with your face.”

“But of course not,” Annatar thrilled, “And I do believe I got you back quite fairly, wouldn't you say?” He chuckled and kissed Celebrimbor, “No, I shall have to go through with the duster, it must look terrible by now.”

And Mairon, who suspected that there would be no smithing on this day, wrinkled his brow in thought and made to follow his brother. Already he did not know what to do with himself and to stare at sleeping elves seemed to be not entirely an appropriate pastime.

Erthornil yawned and snuggled closer to his father, comfortable under the warm covers as the fog outside swirled like some manner of thick soup. Instead he kicked his leg out once, twice, then began kneading his hands like a kitten to express at least some of the bliss he felt with his father.

* * *

“Does the cold bother you?” asked Mairon when they had ascended to the Sulking Chamber. Indeed there was dust. Also cobwebs by the acre and the furniture would need replacement. That's what happened when one did not go off to sulk from time to time; Now everything was a mess.

Well, not for much longer, he would not allow it to.

Annatar wrinkled his nose at the signs of neglect and made to set the chaise lounge to the side so he could reach underneath. “But of course not, why would it?”  
  


Mairon cocked his head, “You said--”  
  


“It bothers me none,” Annatar said and smirked that secret little grin that Mairon associated with ideas that made Aulë disappointed. “Elves, however, do not enjoy such weather. It makes it easier to get Tyelpe to skip these endless workdays with me. That is all there is to it.”  
  
Mairon hummed, that was what he should have expected from his brother. Annatar who grasped so easily how others thought. It was fascinating to see, to witness him nudge here and casually say another thing there and then see it all come together. It was fascinating in the same sense that most things one did not understand did.

For Mairon did not know how to make others understand him. It had never bothered him. But it was still exciting to observe. “Oh, I see. Very smart.”

“Wasn't it? I hope it will not clear up too soon, the book is still not finished...”

“I imagine it would be hard to read while you fight with pillows...”

“Mairon! Was that sarcasm? Oh, we have been rubbing off on you,” Annatar laughed, utterly delighted. “Now,” he said when he had composed himself, “Help me break this couch. It is time to redecorate and the sooner this poor excuse for a proper settee gets turned to firewood, the better.”  
  


And of course Mairon did. Because shattering furniture seemed far more appropriate than looming over his sleeping brother-in-law.


	6. Fine Things

“We are only going to stay for a week...” Mairon noted when the last of the supplies had been dragged out to be loaded up. Servants scurried about everywhere and Mairon had retreated into a strategic corner to be out of the way.

Such bustle, such a flurry of activities, it reminded him of the forges back home. And it reminded him why he had begged Aulë for a little space of his own. Such excitement was terribly exhausting after a while, after all.

Next to him, Annatar stood, consulting a list so long, it dragged behind him like a parchment tail. “I _know_, I hope I packed everything,” Annatar replied. “Someone find me he quartermaster, I want to go over the lists again.”

Mairon glanced at the pile of travel chests, all ornate and carved with designs and made to reassure his brother. He was not certain just exactly what and of what quantity elves needed for travel, but surely a pile his own size was plenty?

Celebrimbor intervened before Mairon could contemplate what to do, “Save your breath, there is no stopping him now.”

And though Mairon had not been present for Annatar's departure, he still remembered the little room his brother had occupied, stuffed to the rafters with trinkets and treasures, either gifted, made or gathered.

Mairon's room had always been spotless. Perhaps he could put a few flowers in there when he returned. Dried ones, he would forget to water them, surely.

Behind him, there was the sound of someone most displeased about the current state of affairs and unabashed to declare this to the world and all those who would listen. A grumbled mewl came from the rolled blanket Celebrimbor held.

“He is not a morning person,” Celebrimbor offered when Mairon looked at Erthornil in his nest.

“It is rather early,” Mairon conceded. He was getting better at this small-talk. How nice, soon he could cross it off his list. “Still dark out.” Safe for secret snacks, he had never seen Erthornil awake during the small hours.

“Not for long. And I would rather we go sooner rather than later; It gets dark so early. He can sleep on the ride there. He knows the routine, he just likes to be dramatic about it,” Celebrimbor said, smiled a knowing smile and buried his face in the blankets to kiss Erthornil's forehead.

Speaking of theatrics; There echoed a whine through the halls, as if the castle had turned into a haunted quarry. Silence, then another, some poor soul bemoaning all that which was wrong with the world.

Celebrimbor hummed, “Annatar needs someone deciding which robes to take, no doubt,” One leaned to read Annatar's moods after so many years, after all. It was hard not to, really. “Mairon, if you would?”

Erthornil demurred the sudden movement but rubbed his head against the offered shoulder all the same before falling quiet again. There was a bit of shuffling, some repositioning and then only the sound of content breathing.

“There,” Celebrimbor smiled, “You are a natural at this, did you know?”

Why no, Mairon had not. But what a nice compliment that was.

Celebrimbor, confident that there would be no imminent screaming from either of them, nodded satisfied and smiled reassuringly, “I will be back soon, do not worry.”

So praised and assured, Mairon watched Celebrimbor hurry to Annatar's aid while he himself remained here in the halls with little Erthornil.

* * *

“Eight are enough, don't you think?” Celebrimbor said and already braced himself for the tirade that would follow. It would doubtlessly not remain by eight, but it was a good opening offer.

“_Eight_! _Tyelpe_, do you wish to see me humiliated? What if I have nothing for the occasion? Do you want me to walk amongst our people in ill-fitting attire?” Annatar asked, gesturing to the carefully laid out clothes and accessories.

“I was thinking about some spares. Would that not be enough?” Every year the same dance, without fail. Not that Celebrimbor minded the theatrics.

Annatar spun around, back towards the endless expanses of silk and cashmere and whatever else had ever caught Annatar's interest. “Why, the essentials alone will be the odd dozen or so, not counting the complimenting _capes_.”

“And the jewellery?” Celebrimbor asked, waving towards the opened boxes where glittery spruce spilled out over the entire vanity like some manner of aggressive golden plant life claiming ground. Most of them Celebrimbor recognized as ones he had made himself.

Like a dying swan, Annatar crumpled onto the chaise lounge, conveniently placed for theatrical purposes, “Oh Tyelpe, don't remind me!”

Celebrimbor kissed his stricken husband and made to pack while Annatar wilted away on the lounge.

* * *

There could be no riding, no travelling, without first greeting the horses.

Erthornil remained determined to stay wrapped in his warm blanket. Unwilling to walk for himself when being carried was just so much more comfortable and conductive to napping, he yawned. The air in the stable smelled of hay which so tickled the nose that he had to sneeze and _that_ woke him up enough to look around.

A carrot was pressed into his hand and though Erthornil was not particularly hungry so soon after waking up, he nibbled on it before a large muzzle snuffled at his back.

“That was meant for the horse, my darling,” Celebrimbor said and smiled.

Erthornil stared at the carrot and then at his father with wide eyes.

Before the horse could become too cross at having his treat eaten away, the now lightly trimmed carrot was offered. Sounds of crunching filled the stable and all was well in the world again.

“We can have breakfast on the road,” Celebrimbor said while Erthornil reached out to stroke the soft nose of their horse, fully enraptured. “I had your oatmeal packed.”

Sounding pleased, very pleased indeed, Erthornil cooed and squirmed about a little until he was once more comfortable situated.

* * *

“Are you ready, Mairon?” Annatar asked when everything had been stowed away, secured and he had no way of packing the remaining pieces of clothes left behind.

Mairon nodded, though that was no great surprise. His brother had not all that much to pack and to keep track of. His list was as short as it had ever been, the remaining points transferred from the long, long parchment to a little roll of paper.

“There is...I mean, I do not know how to ride a horse.”

Annatar broke the sudden silence, “Ah, yes. There might have been a slight oversight on my part. Our part. But that is...We will improvise!”

“I could simply _fly..._ It would be faster, too,” Mairon suggested helpfully.

“_Absolutely_ not. This is a family outing and we will have you with us. As a family. Not to mention that you will startle the servants tidying up the place if you arrive so early.” And so fiery. Elves were so easily spooked, the silly things. There need only be a small explosion in the vicinity and there would be hardly one able to keep up polite coversation.

And so, Annatar had found, a state of unburnt non-explosiveness was ideal and most conductive to civil life. Who would have thought? He remembered Curumo's love for black-powder creations and all the care Mahtan had usually given those, which was none.

“Then what will I do? I cannot learn to ride in but a few moments.” Perhaps he was getting a tad flustered, for Annatar sidled close to his brother and leaned his head on his shoulder. That helped, Mairon found that he had been nervous.

“What about the carts?”

“Tyelpe! We transport luggage and supplies with those. Are you suggesting that my dear, darling brother has the worth of a carved oak chest?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Celebrimbor assured the brothers. “Very well, I propose a different idea.”

* * *

No great journey had ever been undertaken without proper breakfast and so, when Erthornil began squirming about, the sun had only just begun climbing out of her own bed and peaking over the horizon.

Now properly awake and properly hungry, there was a break before Erthornil's mood could begin to utterly plummet.

While Annatar whisked their hungry son away, oatmeal with cinnamon at the ready, Celebrimbor helped Mairon off his horse, “And how are you holding up? Is the saddle comfortable? I admit, if one is not used to it, it tends to make itself known quite soon.”

The horse Mairon had been given had been tied to Celebrimbor's stallion which meant Celebrimbor had effectively lead both of them.

Mairon managed to not tumble off in his attempts to dismount and smiled a little smile at his success. “I feel nothing of the sort.”

“I suspected; Annatar, too, could ride until the horse keels over. I am quite jealous.”

“If it helps, I could fashion a rudimentary nervous system for myself, I have been reading up on that.” Perhaps this would teach a lesson in empathy, for Mairon had no experience of the way elves experienced sensation.

“That's alright, you are nervous enough as is,” Celebrimbor said.

  
Mairon did not understand the joke.  
  


* * *

After breakfast, of course, a round or two of tag was to be had. The first of many breaks meant solely for entertainment.

It was not only the royal family that indulged, however, and suddenly Mairon found himself alone as everyone in the household broke away to safe themselves of the fate of being the tagged.

Erthornil, who could not run quite so fast and think quite as much ahead, was giving a little leeway. Mairon watched those closest to him slow until they could be caught fairly.

It was not the first time Mairon had experienced the game. He, too, had once been small and along with other small Maiar he had played. Or at least watched others play; He had preferred the safe solace that hiding in Aulë's mane brought.

It had always been Annatar who had dragged him out and pulled him along until the rules made sense and the world had not been quite so scary and strange any longer. And he had been the one to tag him, of course.

So now as well and when Annatar dashed along, between trees and brush, mirth glittering in his eyes as he honed in on his brother, why, it was almost as if they were still home and young again.

* * *

At some point, it had indeed become late now, they arrived at the lake mansion.

Lanterns had been hung and the windows glowed warmly from the fire that had already been lit.

Mairon remained silent while they were received and watched the entire thing before he climbed off the horse.

Annatar, with Erthornil at his side, smiled fondly at his brother and inclined his head towards his husband. “My poor, sweet Tyelpe,” Annatar said when Celebrimbor picked his way across the clearing and cracked his back. “So out of shape,” Annatar lamented and yelped when Celebrimbor, now close enough, poked him in the ribs.

“Watch what you say or I shall not take you out on the lake,” Celebrimbor said and looked not the least bit serious.

“My darling, threats are so unbecoming of you.”

Celebrimbor kissed him then, in the hopes that would forestall the Maia's cheeky brazenness. That usually worked.

All four walked towards the house, though one skipped along while he held his uncle's hand, eager for his toy chest that had been carried inside. Playing tag and hide-and-seek was all well and good, but sometimes one needed the finer things in life, namely blocks and dolls and puzzles.

Annatar and Celebrimbor lingered behind, no coloured blocks in dire need of perusal waited for them, after all. “Oh, if anything it will give you a little exercise when you row me out under the winter equinox.”

Celebrimbor made as if deep in thought, “_You_ could row for a change.”

“Don't be silly. What will you have left if I do everything around here?”

“Peace and quiet?”

“How _positively_ boring!”

And together they walked, fingers woven together.


	7. Boats and other Nice Things

The first night away from familiar walls and familiar beds was always upsetting for Erthornil and so, as always, the night after arrival was spent in the manse comforting their upset little son.

That was nothing new in itself. It was not _nice_, seeing their little Erthie so uncomfortable, of course not. But they had the advantage of knowing that this would happen and the motions and routines to comfort came easy after a few years.

There were things that eased the transition somewhat; The toy chest, build solid to withstand the strain of travel, always came along on grand undertakings. A little oil-lamp had been lit, the fragile scent of lavender swirled shyly around the room, unobtrusive.

The little blanket with happy felt stars stitched onto every available surface and forever smelling faintly of sunshine and vanilla.

But most importantly, his fathers were there and few things were better in the world.

They were always appreciated, regardless the circumstances. And, to be fair, it was nice to have kisses and cuddles on demand and Erthornil had absolutely no quarrels about frequently demanding for it.

So doted over and comforted, it was just a little easier to fall asleep and once he did, they stroked his little face and kissed his brow until slumber was certain

One needed to be mindful about what little ears could hear and so, once the grousing had faded and Erthornil had settled, they stole away, sneaking away like thieves in the night, perhaps a little gigglier, and fell onto one of the settees. They rested against one another, Annatar having one hand rest against Celebrimbor's chest, the other wandering lazily across his husband's side.

“He is getting better every time, the brave little dear,” Annatar whispered once their teasing and poking had ceased, close enough to Celebrimbor's face so his breath send the elf's ear twitching. Hot like an oven holding delectable secrets and delights.

“As if there was ever any doubt of that,” Celebrimbor said, nodded to himself and tried to flick away the warmth tickling him so.

“Ai,” Celebrimbor finally said, “Stop that at once or you shall find me repaying you for that tomorrow night.”

“_Tyelpe_!”Annatar gasped, one hand dramatically poised over his chest, though the indignation was somewhat dulled at the fact that he could not raise his voice above a low murmur.

“Are you suggesting doing unmentionable things, Tyelpe darling? On our lovely boat?” Annatar asked, lashes fluttering innocently. But his golden gaze betrayed him, for there was very little innocent intend behind those. “Why, just imaging what things one could do out there, without anyone to listen...”

“There are indeed many _wonderful_ things I mean to do to you, Maia mine. Why, just before supper, I went out to see for the boat--” that playful little gasp on Annatar's part nearly enough to break Celebrimbor's secretive, playful mien. “Ah yes, they repainted it, you know–” And now he himself inched closer, voice soft and whispering until Annatar wilted against him.

“Tyelpe,” Annatar thrilled and tittered, utterly delighted, “You utter tease, how could I?” But he knew very well, for he had instructed the servants to do so. Only the very best for their little outing.

“The upholstering has been renewed,” Celebrimbor continued, paying no mind to the fluttering sigh next to him. “And there is of course the bottle of wine I brought. You know the one; From the high shelf. The one in the back...”

That did poor Annatar in entirely and suddenly Celebrimbor had his arms full with a swooning Maia. Not the worst thing to find oneself laden with.

“Enough, my darling! _Enough_, I am at your feet already,” Annatar begged, not _quite _as composed now. Why, it was positively impossible to stay unflappable with such a flirtatious elf and talks about boats and the _very_ good wine waiting for them.

And since everyone knew that a swooning Maia was ideal, Celebrimbor kissed him to keep him that way a little longer.

* * *

Mairon was nothing if not driven by the need for perfection. And so he asked for riding lessons after high tea and took to them like a bird might to air.

It was a tad sobering to compare oneself to the Maiar; Considering that the day before Mairon had not even ever been near a horse, he carried himself now with much the same grace of one who had experience of a few years.

The speed with which they learned was mind boggling and also just a little unfair. Celebrimbor remembered when Annatar had taken to life in the royal court. One day he had kept to the shadows, listening to the endless chatter, the rumours and whatever it was that nobles talked about.

And then he had been in the very heart of it, knew every bit of gossip, every name and every rumour that circulated. All with the ease of one who had lived their entire life immersed in it.

But he had hardly the time to swell on such thoughts and was left with no chance to wonder about his own merits as Annatar dragged him off to the stables to...inspect the hayloft for an hour...maybe one and a half.

Mairon hardly minded, and when they returned he had also begun to try his hands on proper horse care and how to saddle them himself. Because why not when he had already committed himself?

“You have straw in your hair,” Mairon noted, the hoof of his horse, Iorlas, between his knees as he picked debris and dirt with a hoof pick. Large, like a plate almost, the hoof rested between his legs while the horse munched patiently on hay and oats, a blue blanket flung over the large animal.

Mairon looked quite natural like this, hair bound back, his brow creased into a thoughtful arch. The horse matched him well, with a pretty chestnut pelt. It looked striking when Mairon rode on him, red hair like some manner of triumphant flame trailing behind him.

Had Annatar chosen the stallion because of that reason? Or because of the temper? Iorlas was a very nice, endlessly patient horse. Celebrimbor liked to ride out with Erthornil on him, for the stallion hardly minded the small child cheeping and screeching on top of him, always bouncing and elated, never sitting still, tugging on the brown mane.

More than once had a little finger poked him in the nostril and safe for snorting, there had never been any reprimand.

Annatar laughed, Celebrimbor, thinking about horses, took a little longer to rejoin the conversation.

“Why, so I do. However could _that_ have gotten in there, I wonder?” Annatar asked and smiled while he picked it away and discarded it without a second look. That look, instead, was given to Celebrimbor. A glittering speck of mirth dancing behind golden eyes.

Celebrimbor shrugged, looking perfectly innocent and not at all like a child with a poorly kept secret.

They smirked and hummed and poked at one another while Mairon watched on, oblivious. Or perhaps simply uninterested in their antics. Who could really tell?

* * *

In the middle of the intended festival grounds, there stood a tree. A spruce, perhaps, a tall one. He remembered the mighty trees Yavanna had delivered to them on a regular basis.

In the distance stood an arch made from stone and this one Mairon could easily identify; Hard sandstone, grey and glittering a little here and there. Little specks of mineral. Three slaps of sandstone, two standing up tall and one placed across the other two.

But Mairon had never been very good at anything that was not stone and metal; For him trees had only ever interested him when fuelling his ever so ravenous forge.

But this one had been here for a while. That he could easily see. The faint traces of elven influencing glimmered all around it, perhaps to get the tree to its size, or allow it to age for so long. How long did trees live? How old was this one?

He should really ask that one, or not knowing would bother him later.

Wandering over to Celebrimbor to do just that, he came to a stop next to his brother-in-law who busied himself by entertaining Erthornil.

The child balanced himself on his father's shoes, little arms stretched high over his head, held safely in Celebrimbor's own, that made the entire undertaking a little easier, though he did still sway about, desperate to keep upright. A stressed raspberry was blown, Erthornil's golden eyes all googly as he balanced.

Mairon watched them for a moment before he turned towards the tree, “Is this some manner of tradition?”

“What? This?” Celebrimbor asked and nodded at their game, for he had his head turned downwards and had not seen Mairon's gaze. His palms were turned up, fingers closed carefully around Erthornil's tiny hands. “That is just to teach him a little balance.” Not to mention that it was great fun.

Erthornil looked very, very concentrated, with his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth. Standing in all his regal wobbliness, he squeaked once as if to reaffirm his father's words.

Though that certainly sounded interesting, Mairon shook his head, “No, no I meant the tree.” He inclined his head a little, as if to nod towards it.

“Ah,” Celebrimbor said, “Yes, it is. We will decorate it tomorrow night. Annatar did not tell you about it?”

Mairon made to think but there was nothing he could recall. “No,” he said. But his brother had also been rather scatterbrained these last few days. That was nothing knew, Mairon remembered the ties when something had caught his brother's interest.

Though Mairon had never been able to relate, his focus was a thing of stern single-mindedness once he had begun to find a routine.

Annatar however, had found his flights of fancy as numerous as they were passing.

“Well, he _has _been a little distracted these last few days, I am sure he did not mean anything by it,” Celebrimbor said and even though he knew why, he did not elaborate. Annatar had thought of other things. Mostly because the prospect of visiting the hunting lodge was something so terribly exciting.

Celebrimbor smiled, “Then we shall tell you about Yule together. I am sure Annatar as well will appreciate the refresher.”

Erthornil squeaked happily and suddenly tilted forward before Celebrimbor pulled him up, lifted him far up, up above his head where Erthornil whooped and laughed and flapped his arms like a tiny bird discovering feathers and flight. Strands of short, black hair framed his tiny face as he looked down at his father. He kicked now as well, utterly exultant.

“Shall we?” Celebrimbor asked when he turned back to Mairon. His smile was bright like his eyes and there were little dimples in the corners of his mouth.

Mairon followed behind the two, one being tossed high before being caught again, nearly bursting with laughter.

* * *

'_Telling_' him about Yule turned into an impromptu lesson about holidays and other reasons to celebrate for the elves. Mairon was, of course, no stranger to the _concept_ of celebrating; They had plenty of those and Aule's Maiar were and would forever be the first ones to any manner of dance or feast, closely followed by Orome's own.

But Mairon's answer to the question “Shall we dance and make merry?” had always been some manner of excuse to hide away in his forge. Music was easily ignored when striking steel was just that much louder, all encompassing in his forge.

But learning in itself was nice and the quickly sketched pictures elaborating on this tradition and that manner of decoration looked quite pleasant.

Erthornil had his own pictures prepared for presentation, a cat on one, a tree with lumpy apples and then one with a little figure throwing entire loaves of bread at ducks.

So, perhaps they did not _quite_ fit into current matters, but were still praised and appreciated.

Mairon could not help but be impressed that Celebrimbor had an entire introduction prepared already. Had he done that before for Annatar as well?

Had Annatar been sat down and had taken notes on traditions and how many mulled wines were appropriate to drink before one could draw attention to themselves?

Not that Mairon would even be affected by alcohol; But there was proper conduct one needed to uphold. Also –said Annatar between tickling his son until the happy screeching climbed to the ceiling– the especially foolhardy that would not believe that a Maia could outdrink them and so, to negate as many possibilities of black out drunk little elves, one practised moderation and put a little sway into their walk after the third cup.

All to safe stubborn little elves from themselves.

Mairon nodded dutifully and underscored the important parts twice.

* * *

The second night came and Erthornil appeared perfectly chipper and happy, all thoughts of grousing grumbling and restless mewls displayed the previous night forgotten. They had his favourite supper served and after dessert, there was extensive tower building with colourful blocks and a round of puzzles.

He played himself tired, that helped as well.

Instead there were now only yawns and the rubbing of little eyes when not even the prospect of playing could convince him to remain awake a moment longer.

Unconcerned by anything else, he flopped onto the soft carpet, rolling over between blocks and dolls and handfuls of puzzle pieces strewn about, curled up and burbled once before snoring quietly, utterly asleep.

It was Mairon who brought him to bed, shooing both Annatar and Celebrimbor out with only enough time to grab their bottle of wine after they had kissed their son goodnight. And then they were away, like playful nymphs.

There had been quite a lot of nudging and pointed glances and barely hidden giggling the entire day, he was not so oblivious as to not see that.

Mairon now knew enough to assume that they needed a little time alone. He was getting better with these non-verbal hints. Not great, admittedly. But better.

Mairon watched them go, he looked through the window and though he was not entirely certain about the things they would do, he was also not sure he truly wished to discover it.

He could hear them being silly and chasing each other into the night, along the path lit with lanterns. Away they went, to cause mischief somewhere else. Just as well, Mairon could hold the fort down for a while.

Wanting to prove himself, Mairon adjusted the child in his arms and walked towards the little bed heaped with soft, comfortable pillows and warm furs.

Instead, now more confident with carrying Erthornil around, he put the child to bed carefully and pulled the yarn-haired doll still clutched in almost limp fingers away. He sat it on top of the toy chest so it could keep watch and returned to finish what he had started.

Tucking his tiny nephew into bed with the starry blanket, smoothing a lock of dark hair away from Erthornil's nose before any tickling and subsequent displeased sneezing could occur. How very competent, Mairon was admittedly a little proud of that.

Content, warm and very comfortable, Erthornil slept and made little half-garbled noises from time to time, watched over by his uncle. A little arm was curled under his face, almost like a pillow even as he was half-sunk into one already. He looked like a little black kitten, rolled onto his side as he was.

A tiny leg was kicked out, perhaps to work out a kink before it could annoy. Mairon watched the little twitches and the way a little pink tongue poked out as Erthornil yawned once.

Outside, Annatar and Celebrimbor, safe in the knowledge that their tiny son was safely left with Mairon, laughed as they chased each other towards the boat to have a little fun.


	8. Cress

Spring brought with it an entirely different kind of fun.

Winter was nice; A quiet time of contemplation, of family and very good food, of course.

But spring held very special joys for little ones. There were newborn animals to visit and admire endlessly; Screaming at the unjust fact that one could not take all of them home, that part was mandatory.

Celebrimbor preferred Erthornil petting wobbly little calves rather than fully grown cows; They were so terribly big, even if they were gentle. Celebrimbor liked cows just fine, he himself had been quite fond of petting little and not so little critters when he had been a child.

Had his father ever felt fear when his son bumbled too close around such large animals? With the horses and their crushing horses, or the solid horns of the rams?

Luckily, Erthornil was most fond of the chickens and their little, brown chicks following behind in a little parade. More than once Celebrimbor had heard fond little sighs from him and when he had been fetched one of them, he had promptly and urgently tried to share his good fortune with his uncle.

Mairon now held one of these peeping chicks and looked as bewildered as he did awkward.

“What do I do with this?” he asked Celebrimbor, for Annatar was off to fawn over the lambs with Erthornil and he could hardly interrupt them. The chick in his hand gave a little cursory squirm and then did not resist. But the peeping never ceased and perhaps that unsettled Mairon who's ears quivered at the sound.

“Just set it down I suppose, Erthie won't mind.” Not that he would even be able to see if Mairon did.

“Well then,” Mairon said and kneeled to set the chick down. It scuttled off towards the rest of the chickens, to scratch the dirt and do other chicken things. “I do not quite understand the appeal...”

Piglets with their curled little tails and kittens living in the barns; Those were good, Celebrimbor gladly allowed his tiny son to coo over them. There were lambs and very few things could compare to those when it came to the sheer _need_ to run one's hand through short, curly wool and scratch behind the oversized ears.

“Well...” Celebrimbor said, found himself with nothing clever to say and finally shrugged

They dragged Mairon along, out into the gardens as the first flowers bloomed in the shade of Erthornil's little castle. Proudly decorated it stood there, banners decorated with gold-stitched chickadees waving in the breeze.

Mairon watched them, his list had been left behind, the need to work, still present but not insistent. How strange. His fingers weaved a long daisy chain, absent-mindedly. He had never considered flowers to be an especially useful crafting material, flimsy as they were. Plants of any kind where so fragile compared to the permanence of metal.

For what it was, it would suffice easily. And his nephew seemed quite smitten with the way more and more and ever more flowers joined the chain, growing ever longer.

His own daisies, no matter how enthusiastically mushed together, would simply not do the same. Plaintively sighing, he furrowed his brow and held his handful of flowers out to his uncle, beseeching him to help.

“Well, it is not quite what you used to teach, but I am sure this will be a valuable lesson,” Annatar said from his place on the blanket. Slung into Celebrimbor's arms as he was, he could hardly be expected to help. No, his brother had it under control, clearly.

Before any distress or frustration could spoil what was otherwise a perfectly fine day, Mairon pulled his little nephew closer and demonstrated hands on by piercing the thin stalk of a daisy. Long lectures on proper handling would most likely not be appreciated.

“I don't mind; This one does as he his told,” Mairon said and helped Erthornil slip the stalk of another flower through the opening created. “Unlike some I could mention...”

“Curumo was not so bad; He left your things alone, after all.”

Mairon inclined his head and turned his attention back towards his task, “I enjoyed his enthusiasm, not so much his interests.”

“What interests?” Celebrimbor asked, ears perking. What a terrible gossip he had become; Annatar had most certainly influenced that.

“Black powder,” Mairon said simply and looped his own flower chain into a necklace to decorate Erthornil with.

Warbled gasps of breathless amazement came from a now so prettily dressed Erthonil and newfound vigour spurred his own work forward

“Oh, you give him too little credit,” Annatar said, “Wasn't there also magnesium for a time? And antimony, this I remember.”

“Mhm, they saw the explosion all the way to Tùna.”

“I still believe he will find something useful to do with it one of these days.”

Mairon shrugged, “I kept telling him to not simply pile it up and set it one fire but until he will believe me, I doubt it.”  
  


Erthornil had finished his own, well, to call it a chain was perhaps a little too generous. Five flowers dangling from his pinched grip was the result of his hard work. How proudly he showed it off. There was happy warbling and then, for to repay a gift was only the right thing to do, he draped it carefully over Mairon's head.

“My!” Annatar called, “How handsome you look, Mairon. Does he not, Tyelpe dear?”

“Verily,” Celebrimbor agreed without hesitation and received his tiny son who barrelled into him to be praised for his hard work.  
  


* * *

Lunch as well was served in the garden, the weather was nice enough and it would have been a waste to let it pass them by. But before anything could be served, Erthornil cheeped about and desperately tried to pull someone along to chaperon him.

Something integral was still missing.

Annatar grasped Erthornil's hand and followed along, someone would have to carry the ingredients, after all.

Celebrimbor watched them go, dreading dark things. Still dreading, he accepted the tea Mairon poured and swirled it around in his cup, he watched the two of them go.

“Everything alright?” Mairon asked. The poor thing knew not what awaited him yet.

“You shall see...”

* * *

Mairon indeed did see but if the crinkled brow was anything to go by, simply seeing it was not making it make sense.

“Goodness me,” Celebrimbor muttered through smiling lips and kissed Erthornil's forehead just before the child clambered towards his own chair.

“_Yes_,” Annatar laughed brightly, “His harvest was quite bountiful this time. Little darling, how glad I am that we tried for it.”

It had been Annatar who had proposed a little challenge for Erthornil. To allow him to explore different things and to give him responsibility for something; Cress.

Erthornil had taken so very eagerly to it and even if he sometimes forgot to water, or overdid it on the other side, cress was forgiving enough to not simply keel over. Yes, he had found a metaphorical taste for it; There was less and less space on the windowsills as he planted ever more.

But when it came to the actual taste of it... Well, cress was spicy and far too peppery and thus no good to eat. Erthornil would not accept it on sandwiches nor on eggs or cheese muffins. But growing it on the windowsill, that was an entirely different matter. And he had of course not a single quarrel about liberally garnishing his father's every dish with it.

Celebrimbor looked upon the mess of cress that nearly hid his fish, saw the excitement in his son's eyes. The excitement of someone eager to see how their creation would fare and then waited until Annatar distracted Erthornil so Celebrimbor could discreetly hide most of it. It was time to get him interested in something else.

Perhaps a tomato plant? Something hardy and forgiving, should Erthornil try and be especially generous.

“Why, how talented, my darling,” Annatar praised their tiny son, heaping upon him such approval, little Erthornil glowed from it, “How well you take care of your little garden. Why, at this rate you shall be a master gardener one day.”

Happy thrilling and elated twirps followed and now far too exited to eat, Erthornil bounded form his chair and climbed onto Annatar's lap. They nuzzled playfully while Celebrimbor, even as he tried to get rid of any damning evidence, could not help but watch them fondly.

Mairon, too, had been presented with his own bowl of cress. Nothing else. Just cress. But where Celebrimbor faltered, Mairon had simply tilted his head back and swallowed the entire helping of greenery. The air around him smelled very faintly of burning leaves.

But he did not leave Celebrimbor to suffer alone; Celebrimbor found an unused napkin, neatly folded, slid towards him. Mairon glanced towards him and his fingers retreated.

He flipped it open and heaped the cress between the cream cloth like a farmer might have turned hay with a pitchfork.

Mairon had become, for his sensibilities, rather adventurous these last few months. Oh, certainly, he still looked quite awkward in a crowd, he rather remained alone and buried in books, that would most likely remain that way.

But where before Mairon had balked at anything more exciting that tea, stars forbid there was anything in the way of sweetener or lemon in it, he now had begun to seek out new experiences on his own.

It had been heartening to see, Celebrimbor mused. It made Annatar happy and this was important as well.

“Would you not agree, Tyelpe dear?” Annatar asked, just as Celebrimbor had squished the napkin back into form.

Celebrimbor carefully scraped some more greens away, excavating the rest of his meal. “No doubt, he shall raise forests one day with such ardour."

Or simply seed every available surface in the kingdom with cress. That was also possible. Celebrimbor briefly imagined his castle, his courtyard, his entire realm covered in a bright green carpet that smelled perhaps a little peppery.

Well, there were _worse_ things that could happen...

He flipped the fabric back over his greens and found, to his dismay, that the sheer mass was enough to dent it considerably.

Annatar chose this moment to tickle Erthornil and the guffaws that now emerged were enough to mask the low _thunk_ as Celebrimbor brought his fist down and flattened it.

Likely there were now stains in the fabric, it smelled quite strongly of freshly cut grass at the very least. But Celebrimbor had not been found out and when Erthornil, red-faced and gasping giggles still spilling from his lips, he was none the wiser.

“How was your cress, my darling?” asked Annatar as he grasped for a carrot and handed it to Erthonil before he tented his hands under his chin. He smirked so slyly, eyes aglitter with that playful spark. Doubtlessly he enjoyed the fact that he only got to watch their son's bountiful harvest while Celebrimbor was expected to partake in all of it. That cheeky Maia... Someone should teach that one a lesson.

Annatar tittered knavishly at Celebrimbor's thoughtful look and this, if nothing else, sealed his fate.

That would come later, however. Threads could hardly be delivered with the same imperial lordliness when there was such loud crunching of carrots.

It was the sound of thoughtfully peeling off the rind to get at the sweeter core inside. But even as he chewed, Erthornil looked at his father with the expecting stare of an artist wishing for evaluation.

“Delectable,” Celebrimbor said finally and meant it whole-heartedly. All thoughts of ways to make Annatar squeak postponed for the moment. It was also the truth and nothing else, for he would not lie to his wonderfully, caring son. Once culled to a digestible amount of it, it was well-cared for, watered with enthusiasm and love. Both in very large quantities. “Absolutely scrumptious.”

Erthornil chirped and hollered loudly at that and flapped his arms about to express his gratitude at the praise.

Mairon smiled, ears twitching in something almost appearing to be amused interest and his hands, no longer able to clutch at his finished list, rested on the table, next to the lumpy napkin hiding Celebrimbor's secret.

He was simply, _utterly_ content.


	9. Kites

When Celebrimbor awoke he found his bed empty, no husband trilling about and no eager child tugging at his hair nor fumbling to crawl underneath the blanket.

It was such a terribly boring way to wake, all things considered.

Rolling over, he looked out the window. It was windy for a spring day; Leaves blew past the little slice of sky he could see from his position of being stretched out between pillows and blanket.

Ah, yes, that would explain things. What it of course not offered an answer to was exactly _how long_ ago it was that Annatar and Erthornil had absconded, leaving poor Celebrimbor behind to sleep and waste a perfectly fine day.

A hand brushing over the mattress on Annatar's side of the bed revealed it to be warm still, though that could have been from the residual heat of the Maia that occupied the bed.

Annatar, if wishing to, could generate quite cosy temperatures which made him a _fantastic_ and frequently sought after source to nestle against.

But now it only served to muddle hints and Celebrimbor was left to either puzzle out this mystery or leave the snugness of his bed to find his decamped husband.

In the end he opted for breakfast before chasing after his family. There was after all a proper order to things.

* * *

It was brisk for a spring day. The wind certainly did not help matters any and what warmth there might have been was pulled away by the wind. If there had not been so much green all around them, so many flowers waving their colourful heads about in the stiff breeze, why, one could have mistaken it for autumn.

Annatar hardly minded and besides, he would not have the joy of finally being able to wear the airy silks and light cottons acceptable for spring.

Erthornil was not yet so hardy and his little overcoat had been buttoned up all the way to his chin. Little ears tucked under a woolly cap.

High above, made from colourful paper and every possible space scrawled with pictures of potato shaped cats and dogs, flew a kite. Several, to be fair. But this one was the most perfect one and Annatar, thusly, cared only about the one.

He had been designated to minding the spool, keeping the kite afloat and letting it rise ever higher. Erthornil had his own little hands grasped tightly over Annatar's and expressed his delight with unceasing vigour. This, too, was an important task and who would be better suited for it than him?

Mairon had his own kite, made and ordered to fly it under duress, by a brother who knew just from which angle to press to get his way.

He was not entirely certain where the fun in this was supposed to be. He was no stranger to kites, but even back home he had never truly seen the appeal. They appeared so..._singular_ in their use. Not at all useful for anything else but floating them about, hoping they would not tangle in some unfortunately placed tree.

“I think this would work better with two strings,” Mairon said and looked up at the colourful paper bows that had been tied to its tail.

“Whatever for? The one seems sturdy enough for such winds and any stronger will tear the paper apart regardless.”

“Manoeuvrability.” Already he had plans how one could make a better kite, one not so entirely depended on the whims of a breeze, but _steerable_. That would likely be more interesting than what they were currently stuck with.

Not that Annatar seemed to mind, indeed, he looked perfectly happy and content as it was.

Annatar pursed his lips in thought and tugged gently at the string, “But simply imagine the tangled mess if you do not roll it up properly.”

“If one cleans after themselves as they _should_, then there will be no mess,” Mairon said and recounted endless times of chaos, of workshops in disarray and of guilty parties long fled.

He wondered, suddenly, if his absence had allowed his fellow Maiar and with them most likely the Eldar pupils as well, to blunder around.

Before, there had never been chaos in his own workshop of course. Conflagrations and damnations were under the more harmless reactions should anyone dare to try and make a mess about in Mairon's forge.

He found that he _missed_ home and all those that lived there. Mahtan and Aulë and Curumo and all these other fools.

“Why, look who has roused himself at last,” Annatar said and nudged his brother before Mairon could muse much further.

There, in the distance, over the swaying grass, wandered Celebrimbor without crown jewels nor other finery. Erthornil squealed at the sight of his father, whatever fascination his kite might have provided, all was forgotten the moment Celebrimbor had crested the little hill.

Erthornil was set down and had barely touched the ground when he chased towards Celebrimbor, a little pile of wool racing with all the considerable speed of one in desperate need to be cuddled. Not that he had not been enjoying attention before, but why content with one father when he could be indulged by two?

By the time Erthornil had reached him, scuttled around Celebrimbor in agitated little circles and tugged at his tunic to be picked up, his little hat had come all askew.

Celebrimbor tucked it back into place and joined the two Maiar with their kites. “Had you planned to let me snore away the day, love?”

“Oh, don't be silly,” Annatar laughed brightly and kissed him, “You hardly snore.”

“Hm, so brazen this early?”

“Hush, instead help me with this,” Annatar said and motioned towards the spool and the kite attached to it.

“I have my arms full I'm afraid,” Celebrimbor smiled and nodded at Erthornil perched comfortably in his arms like a happy bird in its nest.

With a pert head toss and a little snort, Annatar turned back to his kite, “Very well, don't have fun then.”

“I'm sorry, it is simply not all that engaging,” Celebrimbor said, even as he looked up at the admittedly very pretty kite.

“I have been trying to tell him that,” Mairon piped up from where he stood.

“Mairon!”

“Don't waste your breath, I have been telling him for years.”

“_Tyelpe_! How rude!” Annatar called and when he found no one apologising, he snorted. “Very well!”

“Don't be like that, Annatar,” Celebrimbor said and though he could not use his arms, they were hardly needed to kiss him.

Annatar huffed but the offended pout had nearly vanished by the time Erthornil tried to scale him again, perhaps in an attempt to offer his own placations.

“I thought it better if the kite had two strings,” Mairon said again. This time, with Celebrimbor here, the elf turned and Mairon could see his ears swivelled attentively.

“Better how?” Celebrimbor asked curiously and tilted his head.

“I-- shall need some paper,” Mairon said.

* * *

Once plans, or something approaching plans and no longer mere musing scribbles had begun forming on the plans before them, Annatar too became involved.

The kite string had been tied to the chair he sat on and he bowed over the drawings with the other two. It was yet another flight of fancy on top an ever growing pile of steadily growing reveries. Even if they would not build models and would never come to the testing phase for them, it was so very fun to muse and think and plan together.

Erthornil had contributed in his own way, both by fetching rocks to weigh down papers and decorating the margins with many a scribble himself. Artful little swirls and clouds and for good measure, a few cats. Truly, they would have enhanced _any _document fortunate enough to receive such attentions.

“I admit, it is a quaint idea,” Annatar said finally, over tea. Between the delicate porcelain plates lay stones of various shapes and sizes, all weighing down paper that showed just how the initial idea had progressed, warped and finally spilled over into different, ever spiralling new ideas.

It could go on like this all day, if no one intervened.

“But,” Annatar said, for it was him who had been delegated to be the voice of reason apparently. “We have not yet finished our other pieces and I refuse to start another one until we have at least done away with a single one of them.”

“We have time today,” Celebrimbor said and rolled one of the rounder stones between his hands. And indeed they had time. All the time they needed to try and finish something they had started before better, grander plans had taken over.

Such was perhaps the downfall of artisans who had no self-control nor true _need_ to see a plan brought to its inevitable conclusion.

Just as well, really. Because, at the end of it, was it not about the mere joy of creating? Also a convenient excuse to tinker about in the forge.

“Then we shall _create,_ my dears!” Annatar called and laughed brightly.

“I will have someone fetch Teliadis,” Celebrimbor said and rose before gathering up Erthornil who had his pockets full of the rocks he had not wished to hand over. “Heavy you are,” Celebrimbor said and poked Erthornil playfully.

“You needn't wait up for me,” Celebrimbor called over his shoulder.

Annatar sighed, a fluttery, happy sound that spoke of endless adoration as they watched Celebrimbor wander away. He had no right to look so dashing while doing little more than carrying a rock-laden child, and yet he did. Why, Annatar would be hardly able to concentrate on his work later. What an insidious elf, that one. Tempting him so unashamed.

Mairon, utterly oblivious, carefully rolled up the papers and turned to his brother still staring at the spot where Celebrimbor had vanished out of sight.

“Shall we?” he asked patiently and waited until Annatar had stopped daydreaming.  
  
Annatar rose and followed. Behind him, fluttering up high in the breeze, his kite flew about like a flag. “We shall,” he said merrily and hooked one arm with one of Mairon's.


	10. Homebound

Mairon was --and that would have come to absolutely no surprise to anyone-- prone to planning; Over-planning, perhaps. And he had indeed planned and planned very diligently for his eventual departure, starting moments before he had even set foot in his brother's home. The details had changed over time, Mairon had had accounted that he would perhaps not leave as the Maia that had arrived.

Even that had been considered and factored in.

But these plans had taken on form and structure over time. He had worked out when he would propose his plans of departure. After dinner, the time of unwinding and of peace, when any and all work was ignored in favour of favoured pursuits.

The announcement was made when they played chess. Mairon found that he enjoyed chess, once he had leafed through the rulebook. It was orderly and neat, the rules made sense and could easily be applied for moves in advance.

It was fun. Less so, perhaps, for the other two players in the room. Because the moment Mairon had fully embraced the game, there had been no victor but Mairon. And this, though unspoken, was rather entertaining too.

Mahtan had invited him once. Or more than that, despite his usually so perfect memory, Mairon could not recall how many times he had been invited to participate with Eldar and Maiar alike. The same amount of times he had turned down such offers, naturally. This helped very little in narrowing down a number.

Three chessboards had been set in between them, everyone played with everyone, save Erthornil who had been busy drawing and demanding for someone to peel clementines for him.

“I will leave tomorrow, or the day after, I believe.”

Annatar, who had been desperately trying to wiggle his way out of what would be a check in in two moves, looked up sharply, one finger still toying with a lock of gold, “So soon? When did you plan that? And when did you plan on telling us?”

Mairon gave his brother a quizzical look, “Right now. On both accounts, before you ask. It feels right...I suppose.” He took his rook and eliminated the last pawn of Celebrimbor's side. Celebrimbor gave a pained little grunt, forced to scramble for safety.

“Well, then I hope you are prepared for quite the spectacle,” Annatar said musingly, “Erthie does not take someone leaving well, I thought you should know.”

Mairon made a soft noise deep within his throat, closed his attack on Annatar's king, won, and looked at his brother, “What should I do then? I do not want to upset him.” To end what had been a rather nice visit with tears, that sounded quite unpleasant and the thought of it alone sat ill with Mairon.

“Why,” Annatar thrilled watching Celebrimbor reset his board, “It is very simple, really. You do as he wishes, you shower him with gifts and tonight you bring him to bed. Always works. I should know.”

“It works on him too,” Celebrimbor said and smirked at his husband fumbling his fallen army back into place. Their own board was still in the very middle of their meandering match. They needed most of their concentration to stop Mairon from his merciless advance.

There was, however, enough time to glare most disapprovingly. Annatar did just that, one hand planted against his chest, “Tyelpe!” 

“I know,” Mairon said mildly and smiled. Half the trinkets in Annatar's old room had been made by Mairon, to appease his brother, after all. Mairon could not imagine it to be much different here, with Celebrimbor providing steady supplies of gifts and glittering knick-knacks.

“_Mairon_! How _rude,_ the both of you!”

“Shush,” Celebrimbor said and laughed when he was glared at, “Instead make your move.”

Annatar scoffed but lifted his hand towards his pawn. No doubt, Celebrimbor would have much to answer for his insolence. How exciting a prospect. And with a free evening and a child being distracted, there would be all the time needed for that.

“I will leave tomorrow then, there is something I must do still. I let myself be distracted.” Which in any under circumstances would have led to endless shame heaped upon himself, the thought alone made his skin crawl.

Celebrimbor murmured through his own move. “And that would be?”

“A gift,” Mairon said and nodded at his nephew, busy with sorting his wooden pearls by colour to make a very colourful necklace, “As promised.”

Erthornil, oblivious to the prospect of gifts for the moment, searched desperately for another blue bead and made little, thoughtful noises as if griping to himself.

“Oh, Mairon, I was joking,” Annatar called, looking stricken, but not enough to try and beat him, “You needn't delay your plans; Just read him a story, that will suffice.”

Mairon shook his head and added lemon to his tea, “No, that's alright, it is as good of an excuse as any.” Then he looked over his and Celebrimbor's board, “Checkmate in two.”

* * *

“He has been very diligent as of late,” Annatar said when they made ready for bed. Erthornil had been cuddled to satisfaction, trotted out his newest masterpiece and the necklace he had made for appropriate praising and then off he was to his room. Not to bed, necessarily. That was were Mairon would come in, after all. One did not need to make it needlessly easy for him, after all.

Annatar had perched himself over Celebrimbor, knees buried somewhere in his lower back, palms kneading his back like a contented feline while Celebrimbor slipped gradually into some state of fuzzy, blissful half-awareness. What punishment indeed, served him right to humiliate poor Annatar so. Now he would be stuck on the bed, limbs all noodly like dough. Certainly, he would think twice about making smart remarks in the future. “So he will perhaps try and beseech you to let him draw through the night.”

“Hrm,” Celebrimbor muttered, perhaps in agreement or perhaps not, it was hard to tell at this point. There was not much room for conscious thought any longer.

Mairon had listened to his brother's devious giggling and left to do as he had promised. By now, bringing Erthornil to bed was nothing new nor novel. The trepidation, the fear of doing something wrong was entirely gone, replaced with the comfort of routine.

* * *

Mairon had allowed his nephew to ruminate over his twenty pieced puzzle a little longer, to touch up a few lines on his newest drawing and to bring his toy, a little metal dog, to bed. A very tiny one on the nightstand. Set aside especially for it. But then no more interruptions would be tolerated and Mairon grabbed for his nephew and tucked him in before anything else could be started and delay bedtime.

“There,” Mairon said and beheld his work. Blanket pulled neat and free of creases, pillows fluffed and most of the detritus of strewn books and toys picked out. “Which book shall I read for you?” Far be it for Mairon to neglect routine, not if he could help it. Well, in some cases. But not for something like this.

Erthornil rolled over and pulled a book from under the pillow, waving it around in front of his uncle, utterly ecstatic.

Mairon grabbed it on the second try and carefully propped it onto his lap. “Very well.” He knew this one by now, dozens of times had he listened to Annatar or Celebrimbor reading it aloud, he himself had done so numerous times and if Erthornil was not yet sick of it, Mairon would be too.

He read of hungry caterpillars and naughty magpies and cheeky forest sprites playing pranks, and indeed he could have done so without turning the page but showing the pictures was important. Erthornil offered commentary, touched the well-loved pictures and followed the swirly lines with his finger until, bit by bit, he did not.

Mairon pulled the star-stitched blanket higher, neatened it a little and smoothed out the new crimps, in his glee Erthornil had halfway untucked himself, and placed the book carefully onto the nightstand.

Light from the tiny fireless lantern painted shapes around the room; The only, but sufficient, source of light when Mairon left, taking with him his own light.

Mairon pulled the door close behind him, but not before Erthornil cooed contently in his sleep. Satisfied with his work, Mairon searched for a place to think.

* * *

He retreated to the dark antechamber, he had no business in the bedroom and his own had not once been entered. Celebrimbor slept, he could feel it through the walls. Like a low burning fire, fallen dormant. Even more so when next to Annatar who was both awake and swirling awareness quietly around both Celebrimbor and Erthornil. It felt...private. Mairon would not interrupt.

Mairon made no light and instead remained as he was.

“It's like the one back home,” Mairon said. His gaze remained fixed to the windows, though Annatar, entering silent, hardly minded. He sat in Aulë's chair, left behind to serve as conversation piece. Enormous in scale and weight.

“Yes,” Annatar said and tittered, “He broke one of ours before making it.” And when he had reached both chair and brother, he sauntered around to face the front. “Move over?”

Mairon obliged, shuffling over to make room.

Annatar hummed, leaned against his brother, “I can hardly imagine why he would not take it with him; It's lovely.” Annatar's fingers wandered over the carvings hidden out of easy sight.

“Would he have flown with that on his back?” Mairon asked.

Annatar laughed, “No, I suppose propulsion is cumbersome enough without a tungsten chair strapped to his back.”

And though Mairon would have never made such remarks, jokes really, himself, he found the image rather amusing. They giggled together, like little Maiar. It was easy to feel small when perched in this hulking beast of a chair, two of them squished together.

“Mairon?” Annatar asked when they had quieted again. His head rested on Mairon's shoulder.

“Yes?”

“You aren't leaving because anything made you uncomfortable, are you? It's silly, but I can't help thinking about it.”

Mairon blinked, though he did not turn. “Well, no. I was thinking about home. It is nice here. But it is not home for me. I miss Aulë and my forge. And I was promised instruction on star metal.”

“And I wasn't invited for that? Oh, how _unfair_!” Annatar whined.

“It is for those who take these things seriously,” Mairon said. “Like me.” He puffed out a little, Annatar shifted around and giggled at his brother's display.

“Did I not make such wonderful rings?” Annatar asked and a hand was thrust into Mairon's vision. A golden band, a wedding ring, glinted in the silver light. “And keep making them?”

Mairon crinkled his nose. “It's so restricting. It's a ring.”

Annatar huffed but gazed fondly at it all the same, “It is _perfection_. Look at it; The carving is _flawless_.” Not to mention all the little blessings woven along its surface. Celebrimbor had the other piece to it. Two perfect rings.

“It is not living metal.”

“Feh,” Annatar said and leaned back; he could, after all, not deny it. It was not living metal. Apparently batting one's eyelashes and asking politely did not persuade Aulë to teach that lesson...

“I earned it, I think,” Mairon said and here, with only his brother and moonlight for company, it did not feel wrong to speak of 

“I have no doubt of that.”

They sat together like that for a while, silent, to gaze at the stars. “Erthie loves his little castle,” Annatar said softly after a while, sighing fondly, “He has been dreaming of it rather often.”

“It's nothing special,” Mairon said and it was the truth. It was not decorated cleverly, no carvings nor inlay adorned the walls. It was only a very rudimentary toy, made from song and formed with heat. Nothing special.

He was poked in the shoulder and met with Annatar's disapproving gaze, “I would have hoped living with us would have cheered your demeanour something; I hate it when you put yourself down like that.”

“I am plenty cheerful,” Mairon said. It was impossible not be, he reasoned. Not when one had Annatar as a brother. “And I am also realistic-- Don't keep poking me, it will not change the truth,” Mairon said, caught that relentlessly poking hand that tormented him so and held it at distance.

Annatar huffed, grinned and his other arm came up to continue what his occupied fingers could not.

There was only so much space to goof around and finally, with them both nearly slung over the armrest, Annatar smiled. “I promise to stop.”

“I do not need your promise,” Mairon said, he had, after all, both of Annatar's hands firmly grabbed, out of poking distance. “This'll make sure of it.”

Annatar pouted and it had no effect on Mairon. Lesser Maia might have faltered, but on Mairon it had no effect. “But I need my hands.”

“You just _want_ them,” Mairon said and it was not lost on him that he sounded like Aulë.

“Mairon, spare me your rhetoric,” Annatar whined and was indeed released. He did not poke his brother, though the reflex to disregard his promise was strong, and instead hummed. He would not prove Mairon right.

“How did we not wake Celebrimbor with your complaining?”

“I would not have needed to complain if you did not act so needlessly humble,” Annatar huffed. “And I sincerely doubt _anything_ will rouse him until morning,” tittering, “I was very thorough.”

“Ah,” Mairon nodded and stood. There was work to be done still, after all and it would certainly not do to waste his few remaining hours squabbling away with his brother. Not to mention, he had been poked quite enough by now.

He needed to get back to the forge. Annatar offered to tag along and was gently rebuffed. This was something Mairon wished to do alone.

The surprise should be a full one, for all of them. For that he could not have a nosy brother peaking over his shoulder.

They parted, Annatar back to whatever dreams invited him to play away in and Mairon to work.

He did not have much time. But it would do.

Mairon had made masterpieces in less.

* * *

Much like a spring lamb, there was a bounce in Celebrimbor's every step. Refreshed, rested, risen like a young god from the moment he had woken. He hummed, too, during breakfast, just after he had spun around the dining room with his husband for a while.

Annatar certainly had not minded that any and when they had been seated, Annatar minced an apple to sweeten Erthornil's porridge.

A rolled up sheet of paper, gripped tightly, had not been put down once, Erthornil coveted it like a priceless treasure. It made eating just a little harder, the same enthusiasm was simply impossible when trying to keep detritus from landing on his picture.

But no one was allowed to see it and so he would keep it safe from all those who would pry! And if that meant slower eating and far too long intervals between inhaling his porridge, then this was to be the sacrifice required.

“Mairon is still here, is he not?” Celebrimbor asked, they were still short one Maia.

“Well unless he was truly tired of my teasing and thus departed earlier, then yes.” Annatar hummed, “I mean, I hardly did anything, so he has truly no reason to.”

“Did you poke him in the sides? Because I would not blame him for fleeing if that's the case,” Celebrimbor said.

“Why, Tyelpe, I had hoped you would have learned your lesson by now,” Annatar said and, with Erthornil properly supplied with apples, sauntered over to his husband to scratch at his ears.

“Hm, perhaps you should go over that with me again later. Truly deepen the lesson this time.”

“Hush it, you cad,” Annatar laughed, “This is not meant for little ears.” And closer, so only Celebrimbor would hear, he whispered, “And perhaps it is _your_ turn to present me with your findings, hm?”

“Well, I shall certainly try.”

“Wonderful,” Annatar said, smiled devilishly and kissed him, a hand drawing lazy circles around the tip of Celebrimbor's ear. It flicked and twitched but Celebrimbor did nothing to indicate discomfort, merely wry pleasure at the touch.

“Now then, there is still a Maia to hunt down,” Celebrimbor finally said, his coffee forgotten and cold.

Erthornil, done with breakfast and endlessly eager to show his picture, wriggled around on his chair so someone would take pity on him and clean up the remaining porridge.

And then, crowing and warbling commenced, growing quiet as Erthornil bolted down the hallway.

* * *

They spotted him in the gardens at last. Annatar had been needlessly obtuse, deliberately ignoring the presence of his brother that would have told him where to find him in favour of the game. Not that Celebrimbor minded, the straightest, shortest path to something was not always the most fun one, after all.

Mairon stood a pace away from the playcastle, just short of stepping into the space where the longest shadows thrown by it could reach him.

But he was not alone. He had planted a tree. But not simply any tree; Something that fit more with his sensibilities.

This tree, quite unlike a real tree, was made from gold and other precious material, leaves and the fine texture of tree-bark had all been hand-crafted. They had made it together, in a flurry of creativity, had found no use for it and had forgotten about it. Until now.

Erthornil reached him first, half unrolled scroll trailing behind him like some manner of banner. His steps grew slower and when he finally and at last reached his uncle, he was already cooing and grasping for this newest strangeness before him.

“Oh, Mairon! How _beautiful_,” Annatar breathed once they had reached him, fingers outstretched to follow along the roughness of the trunk.

Erthornil was no the only one who could hardly tear his gaze away. The leaves swayed in the wind, not in the way of a flimsy connection of wires being tugged at with the rest remaining rigid, but like true leaves. Even the noise was not unlike any other tree.

They had made it together, first in the great forges to form the trunk, bronze and gold, carved the endless details of bark and made the branches. And in the workshops, the myriad of little leaves, the twigs that would hold them to the main body. And the blooms.

They had forewent apples altogether, instead opting for the blooms. Fruit, red or even a light green or yellow would have looked striking against the emerald leaves. But it was not to be. Any fruit dangled in front of Erthornil which could only be looked at and never be eaten would have been true cruelty, approaching perhaps torture. Such maltreatment of their tiny prince would not be tolerated, so it had been flowers.

Besides, the little mother-of-pearl blooms served more than well and those could be cooed at without hesitation and freely admired. Very thoroughly admired, too.

But Mairon, it seemed, had gone and made a last addition. How very sneaky.

The tree _lived_. It did not drink water nor would any sickness ever end it. But it felt warm to the touch, like bark warmed by the sun and the roots had dug themselves into the earth. Time would show if it would grow too.

“A marvel, a masterwork.” He whirled about, robes flaring so dramatically about his person, and smirked, “You sneaky thing, are you trying to show off?” Annatar laughed, “In my own home too.”

“I am not trying in the least,” Mairon smiled and imagined it to be quite smug; How impertinent. When would he ever have the chance to do so again? Never at home, surely. But here, what did it hurt to be a little less than a perfect role-model?

Erthornil, flapping about and ever around the tree, his uncle and his fathers, chirped in endless elation. What a fine tree it was, truly. It had passed inspection and was now readily accepted as a perfect addition for the little castle in the gardens.

“A shame the castle is so small,” Celebrimbor said finally, “It is quite a handsome courtyard.”

“It is,” Annatar agreed and laughed, “Fitting for it's handsome ruler.” A thought sparked, Annatar whirled around again, eyes alight with the fire of inspiration. “We could make the entire garden into a _protectorate_!” Already Annatar had fallen in love with the idea. “A tiny king inside a tiny castle.”

“He is a little young for sovereign power, wouldn't you say?”

“Pish-posh, he will grow into it,” laughed Annatar and was met with content cooing from his little would-be ruler. “Not too fast, of course.”

Perfectly unaware of the grand plans being spun around him. Instead and most importantly, there was still a gift to be given in return.

Erthornil waved his hand, the one gripped into the paper, the free one grasping into Mairon's robe.

Mairon kneeled and received it. Before he could so much as thank his nephew, Erthornil whined and turned around to mourn the ever closer looming departure of his uncle.

“He has kept it together so well, I am very proud,” Celebrimbor said and scooped his son up.

With Aulë, the screaming had started just after breakfast.

* * *

Erthornil rubbed his eyes and sniffled while Mairon unrolled his gift. Leaned in closer against Celebrimbor's neck, Erthornil sniffled and wiped his face, though there was no outright screaming just yet. That would come later. Just how much later would remain to be seen.

Mairon studied the picture, lost for words. “Thank you,” Mairon said finally and smiled gently before he tucked his gift away safely. It would not do to have it lost during Mairon's travel.

“Well,” Annatar asked, one hand wrapped around Celebrimbor's arm, “Does it constitute a fair trade, do you think?”

“I do,” Mairon nodded without hesitation. “I will hang it on the wall.” If there still was a wall; The possibility that Curumo had simply used his workshop to try his black powder concoctions still remained.

This...bothered him less than he had thought. He could always build another one, after all. A wall could be raised quickly enough.

He smiled. It was time to leave.

“Get back here you,” Annatar called and pulled at him and suddenly Mairon was squished between all three of them. Perched in Celebrimbor's arms, Erthornil was high enough to kiss his uncle's cheek enthusiastically, little arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Neither Celebrimbor nor Annatar were quite that mushy but no one held back squeezing him. And then he was free again, red hair mussed and drawing pressed tightly to his chest.

“Now you can go,” Annatar laughed. “Greet everyone from us, if you would.

They waved, all three of them, as Mairon took off.

Off towards home.


	11. Epilogue

Above the large wooden table, with well-maintained tools laid out neatly along the surface, hung a drawing.

It was not the work of some master, not rendered in oil nor coal. Instead, scrawled in the wobbly, enthusiastic lines of one still learning their craft and loving every second of it, the drawing made up in alacrity what it lacked in artistic skill.

With red crayon smiles and arms stilted stiffly to the sides so the figures could hold stick-hands. Like a mismatched row of pearls they stood there.

Aulë, easy to spot with his scrawly beard, as the very largest, next to Annatar. Erthornil, the smallest, holding hands with his fathers. And then, Celebrimbor, wearing a fetching line that could have been his circlet, next to Mairon.

Every free space had been crammed with things the artist enjoyed very much; Soft pastries, birds, trees, fruit and dogs. A slice of sun in the corner, a tree and an assortment of blocks that approximated a castle.

He would sometimes, when he worked at the table or turned around, gaze at it fondly. And when he did, he would smile.

A knock on the door, unlocked, and Mahtan stuck his head into the room. “Care for chess? Or are you busy?”

There was still enough time for a round of chess, Aulë would understand if Mairon did not come running at once for his teachings. And a cup of tea or two would hardly hurt. “Not for a little while. If you truly wish to be beaten again,” Mairon said and smiled. It came easy, that smile.

“Have been looking forward to it,” Mahtan replied. “The only one in this place who knows the rules, safe me, it seems.”

“Flatterer,” Mairon said easily.

A snort, Mahtan swiveled his ears and tugged at his beard for a moment. It spoke of amusement, yet his voice remained firm, “I never flatter, it wastes my time. I enjoy seeing you play.”

“That is masochism, I think,” Mairon said and hung his apron onto the hook hanging from the wall. “You always loose.”

“Yes, well, if I did not play with you, who would?”

Mairon could hardly argue with that reasoning. So he did not and followed behind Mahtan. His hand rested on the door, just about to pull it closed. He glanced back at the drawing one last time and smiled fondly.

“We can play cards next time,” Mahtan said over his shoulder, already wandering down the hallway.

Mairon turned to reply, “You cheat. Shamelessly.”

“I have yet to see proof of these brazen accusations.”

The door clicked shut and Mairon's forge was silent as its master went to enjoy himself.


	12. What the Gods do in Their Endless Garden

He had brought a shovel. It was too small for him, little more than a garden trowel. But a tool for his size would have caused collateral damage and so he endured. Even compressed into a small hroa, he was still very much larger than any Eldar.

The shovel in itself was entirely unnecessary from a practical standpoint, for Aulë could have as easily commanded the earth to part as he could have turned this entire meadow to molten glass. Neither of these things crossed his mind. The latter did not, for Aulë was not cruel and he held no malicious intent. The former, because he had promised to work as intended and he kept his promises.

Therefore, the shovel.

Yavanna, unburdened by the duties of gardening, rather re-planting the scorched clearing, had slouched herself against him and instructed.

It had not been Aulë who had scorched it, but it seemed only just to cover for Mairon after Aulë had dragged him along, after all. He looked up briefly, the contrail that had followed Mairon for a short while had just begun to dissipate.

Whatever it was Annatar did, perhaps it would rub off on his brother. He wished them all luck.

“No idleness until this tree is planted,” Yavanna commanded lightly.

“Of course, dear.”

She laughed at that, and almost Aulë wished that he dug around the gardens a little more often, if it meant to hear her like this... Though, preferably without the precipice of having to replant burned greenery. That poor tree. And the flowers too. But he did not blame Mairon.

He had flowers bound into his hair, also reparations for the fire. Yavanna's Eldar and Maiar did not care whom they decorated with crowns and wreaths, only that they could. And so Aulë had been left to face all those who wished to decorate him. How often did one have the chance to do so with Aulë, after all?

He dug a hole, with the shovel that was too small for him, dutifully replanted the tree and moved on to the next. Yavanna hummed and praised his work, played with his fiery hair and leaned once more against him when he stooped down to work.

It continued like this, until another breached the unseen border of her garden.

Yavanna remarked the arrival's presence first, it was, after all, her domain he had just wandered into.

“Look who wanders up from the harbour,” she said and leaned her elbows onto Aulë's shoulder. “When did he last bother to come by?”

“He went to tea first, I saw him from up high, atop Ilmarin.”

“And you simply _had_ to ask for falling stars then, hadn't you?”

“In my defence; I did not know he came to visit.”

They talked like this, back and forth like bickering sparrows, merry and mirthful until the visitor had reached them. It was close to the path, Aulë and Mairon had not long ago walked together, after all.

He had wandered idly, not the least bit in a hurry, and his fingers smelled of lavender which he had rubbed between them as he walked.

“A new hobby, master Aulë?” he asked when he had watched his fill and laughed brightly.

“Ai, though I have no talent for it,” Aulë replied and gestured at the burnmarks still not repaired. “Visited your grandfather for tea?”

“Aye, and cards.”

“He cheats,” Aulë reminded.

“Shamelessly,” their visitor agreed. “I have it from him.”

Yavanna smiled, “And what brings you here then? Certainly no card games?”

“No,” Maedhros replied and ran a hand through his locks, “I am here to get a begetting gift.” He snorted, “For a king who has it all.”

“Well then,” Yavanna said and turned, not before instructing Aulë to continue, “Shall we see if I can help you with that?”

“I had most dearly hoped you would,” Maedhros said and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story continues in The King Who Has It All.


End file.
